


Undercover Affair

by BlueMonkey, ThornyHedge



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Espionage, M/M, Male Slash, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:31:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 86,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMonkey/pseuds/BlueMonkey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornyHedge/pseuds/ThornyHedge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CIA agent Dean O'Gorman works in an elite unit that specializes in bringing drug dealers and manufacturers to justice. He is sent to Dublin to get close to Aidan Turner, a young pharmacist suspected of having created a highly-addictive designer drug with the street name "Milk."</p><p>Dean finds everything he believes to be true about himself coming into question as he falls in love with the man he was sent there to investigate.  A ruthless KGB agent competing for Aidan's affections certainly doesn't help matters either.</p><p>Note: Although set in the world of drug dealers and manufacturers, this story absolutely does NOT condone the use of illegal drugs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Blast from the Past

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ceema](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceema/gifts).



> At last, our new multi-chapter is beginning! Hope you enjoy the ride as much as we enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Our friend Ceema planted the seed that grew into this story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CIA Agent Dean O'Gorman is troubled when an old flame comes to work at his office.

_CIA Headquarters_  
_Langley, Virginia, USA_  
_Present Day_

Monday morning, 9:00 a.m.

Everyone in the homicide and narcotics departments knew it; someone was to join their ranks. 

The signs had been there. Nobody had seen the new guy yet, but Mr. Pace had been absent in meetings, and Lucy from HR had soon spilled that Lee had his eyes on someone to replace John, an excellent agent who had unfortunately died in a car accident a month ago. She was eventually, under considerate peer pressure, also forced to clarify that this new man was from the other side of the country—so nobody knew him—and no, he was not a relative to someone higher up on the scales—as the rumors seemed intent on taking that direction. 

In a bout of unprofessionalism, she also admitted he was young and not bad-looking, which of course caused every guy in John's old team to not like their future colleague from the start, and the women to look forward to his arrival at the same time.

So, when at nine in the morning, on the 21st day of September, one of the best task units of the department was requested to appear in Conference Room 2, they all knew what time it was.

"Bet we get to meet that new lady-killer they're bringing in today." Jimmy Nesbitt sat back in his chair, cracking his neck. "Rumor has it he's some super brainiac...like autistically brilliant."

Dean O'Gorman sat down next to him, and added a packet of Splenda to his coffee before saying, "He'd better be something. Do you have any idea how early I had to get up to be here?" As an operative, Dean spent little time at his desk. "I'm not sure why I even have to meet this guy. What's the word, Steve?" he turned to Stephen Hunter, who sat on his other side. "You seem to know everything that goes on around here."

"You want the rumors, or the facts?" Stephen rolled a blunt toothpick around between his lips, a habit he couldn't get rid of—no matter how many pranks from colleagues he'd gotten and was still getting over it. "Nobody knows anything about this guy. That's why it's odd." He leaned back. "But, I've found some info on him. Used to live in Santa Monica. Details about his past are classified, which means there's a big chance he was in Witness Protection—"

"Why would he work here if he's in witness protection?" Adam Brown, a mousy but brilliantly sharp investigator, fired back. "Doesn't make any sense."

"Why else would half his file be classified?"

"Could be a number of reasons."

"Witness protection. I tell you. As I was saying...twenty-nine, specialized in toxins and pharmaceutical research—and here, this is the best part—by _recommendation_."

Stephen let that sink in for a bit.

Dean wrinkled his forehead and brought his mug to his lips, only to pull it away again. "Twenty-nine, you say? And a toxicologist?" 

_Please. It can't be._

"You know the guy, Deano?" Jimmy wondered, reaching for a doughnut when a plate of them was sat in the center of the table.

"I seriously doubt it," Dean dismissed the thought. After all, he'd only known one pharmaceutical toxicologist in his entire life. And that guy was from another country. He sipped at his coffee and watched Jimmy wipe a smudge of powdered sugar from his lapel.

"Well," Adam said, "give it half an hour, and we can ask the man ourselves. A toxicologist. I mean, John was good at what he did, but he was more of an all-rounder. It's a bit odd to have a toxicologist take his place, don't you say?"

He wasn't gossiping; Adam didn't gossip. He was mighty curious though, and half an hour was taking him far too long. "So!" He hit the table to rouse the others. "Might as well do something useful while we wait, right? Dean, I need your help with some details."

"Details? On what, my friend?" Dean was glad for the distraction.

"Please don't ask him about his love life!" Jimmy groaned. "None of us needs to hear about _that._ "

"On a case!" Adam defended himself. Though he soon whipped his head around and looked at Dean with that look that said, 'what's this I hear?'

"What about your love life?" Adam pushed. "Are there updates?"

"I'm sorry to disappoint, but no," Dean answered him perfunctorily. "So, the case..."

They could both hear relieved sighs from behind them. Adam chuckled. He didn't usually keep up with his colleagues' private lives, when they didn't so advertize it, so he wasn't sure whether to be scared or sorry for Dean.

He pulled up a few snapshots on his screen and aligned them neatly. Five pictures showed on screen of men wearing hoodies, all in various versions of looking down. "Does any of these look familiar or suspicious? They're all suspects, and your instinct doesn't usually fail you. I've actually got my eye on two of them, but I need a second opinion."

Twenty minutes later, all of them were so preoccupied with work and a heated discussion about possible angles to take in a case, that Adam looked up in confusion when a hand timidly entered his field of vision.

"Hi." Santa Monica or not, this guy clearly came from across the ocean. A face framed in rowdy, dark curls smiled down at him. "Aidan Turner. Nice to meet you."

At the sound of Aidan's lilting accent, Dean's head shot up. He immediately berated himself for his un-stealthiness. Of all the people for the job, how did this happen?

 _Don't let him recognize me...please, God, don't let him recognize me..._ he begged silently. But why wouldn't he? Dean had changed very little in the five years since he'd last seen Aidan Turner. 

It took until he stood in front of Stephen and shook his hand, that Aidan's gaze felt pulled to his left. As soon as he did, the new guy wished he wasn't still shaking someone's hand; it slipped limply to his side. There was no way he couldn't recognize this man from a time he tried so hard still to forget. There was no way this was just chance. Aidan found himself looking for the exit before he reprimanded himself. Dean wasn't going to take this from him too.

With a steeled expression, he walked up to him and extended his hand. The temperature in the room dropped by several degrees at once.

In his mind Aidan wanted to step back, out the door and never come back. But this was such a good chance, and they'd been so helpful getting him moved. And Dean didn't deserve that victory.

"Aidan Turner."

Dean swallowed audibly and reached for Aidan's hand, shaking it professionally, if not a little nervously. "I'm Dean O'Gorman. Welcome to Langley, Aidan." He hoped his voice wasn't shaking.

When he realized he'd held onto the hand for a bit longer than custom dictated, Dean let go. Aidan looked very much the same as he had years ago. His hair was a bit longer, and he'd grown tan—no doubt from the California sun. But his eyes were freezing cold. 

And why shouldn't they be? Dean had never shown up that weekend Aidan had wanted to introduce him to his parents. Dean had vanished from his life completely. Until now.

Aidan didn't stay a second longer than was necessary, either. Under the lame excuse that he needed to say hi to people from other departments as well, he turned and left the room as soon as he felt it was within his possibilities, and he didn't return to the office again that day.

"So..." Adam looked at Dean, just as the other two in their unit were. He tapped a pencil on his notebook with half-concealed tension. "You mind telling me what that was about?"

"He looks like someone that I used to know," Dean said quietly, barely keeping his composure. He rose, put his coffee mug on the sideboard and swiftly left the room.

Jimmy looked around at the others and voiced what they were all thinking. "Probably an ex."

Down the hall, Dean locked the door of the men's room behind him and stood at the sink, bracing both arms on the counter and breathing heavily. "Aidan," he groaned. "Oh god, why _here?_ "

His memories flew back five years, flashing on a tangle of arms, legs and bed sheets. Suddenly, he felt nauseous and vomited in the toilet behind him. 

With shaking hands, he washed his face with paper towels. "You can do this," he told himself out loud. "You can do this."

_He couldn't do this._

\- - - - - 

They didn't see each other again until Thursday. Aidan made sure of that. The lab where he worked was a floor up from Dean's desk. It was surprising how easy it was to avoid a man who was never in the office. He thought he was going to be just fine after all.

It was less easy when his hopes were thwarted the very next day; a job that needed to be done and a report about a clear liquid to be filed, and it was Dean who needed it.

Aidan tried to catch his desk empty several times before he gave up, told himself to be professional about it, walked up to the desk and pushed the manila folder onto the table.

"Here you are, sir," Aidan said with great stress on the level of politeness. "Lab results of the specimen you brought in yesterday. It can be quite technical. If you want me to translate for you, I can wait."

"I have some training in toxicology and pharmacology, as you probably recall, so there's no need to translate," Dean said softly. "There's also no need to call me 'sir' and no need to pretend you don't remember me. I feel awful about how things ended between us, Aidan. But this isn't the place to talk about it." Dean ran his finger along the edge of Aidan's folder. "I...do you think you could let me buy you dinner? Explain things?"

Aidan froze. He smiled soundlessly. It didn't reach his eyes. Quickly he looked around at how many people might be following their conversation—so many black suits in a too white office—and found that there were far too many. _Professional_ , he told himself, _be a fucking professional. You can do this._ "I'm sorry," he spoke in dimmed words. "I don't think we've met before. You look like a guy I used to know, but you couldn't be. You see, that guy died. It's been a long time. Sometimes I wonder if he was ever real. Oh. Sorry. I overstep my boundaries, sir. I didn't mean to. If that'll be all, I've got work to do." _Permission to leave._

His mask never cracked, but inside, Aidan felt like he was crumbling into tiny pieces.

"Aidan, wait," Dean reached out and put his hand on Aidan's forearm, perhaps squeezing tighter than he should have to stop his retreat. "Now that you're here, you've probably figured out what I do for a living. I couldn't tell you then. Wasn't allowed to."

He searched Aidan's face, even though the brunet wouldn't make eye contact. "I couldn't say goodbye, no matter how much I wanted to. When I heard you'd been put in Witness Protection that gave me some comfort—knowing you'd be safe. But I always, _always_ wanted to see you again. To tell you the truth about who I am."

"I know who you are." Aidan looked away. He hated the nearby eyes on them, but he wasn't going to take this somewhere private. His coffee in the lab was getting cold. He whispered loudly, "Don't think you're the only one who can do his research. You were ordered to make me fall for you. I did, and you hurt me, and I moved on. I have work to do, Dean." Aidan wrenched himself free and took a step out of Dean's reach. "It's a relief at least to learn you never lied about your name." He turned and left.

Adam stared after him, the pen between his fingers threatening to fall to the floor. He snapped up just as everyone was going back to work, startling Jimmy.

"...Aidan Turner. The guy from the Milk case. I thought his name sounded familiar. Jesus. What just _happened_ between you guys?"

Dean's eyes followed Aidan's retreat. "Yes, that's him," he sighed, "and I don't want to talk about it."

\- - - - - 

_CIA Headquarters_  
 _Langley, Virginia, USA_  
 _FIVE YEARS EARLIER_

Wearing a charcoal gray suit, Dean strode down the hallway towards the conference room where he'd be meeting with Lee Pace. In a phone call, Lee had mentioned something about Milk, the new designer street drug that was causing a real problem there in the States, and the possibility that Dean might need to go to Europe to try to suss out the manufacturers.

When Dean arrived—early, as usual—Lee was already sitting at the conference room table, a file folder open in front of him.

He was given an appreciative nod for his punctuality; that was all. Lee gave no unnecessary comments or formalities, and if anyone wanted a coffee, they would have to get one themselves. "Glad you could make it on such short notice," he said. "Close the door, Mr. O'Gorman."

They had never spoken before; Dean knew Lee because everyone did, and Lee knew his employee from the file under his hands. He knew his stats; he knew that before him sat an excellent agent. One of his best. "Now," he finally started. "You were given a file a few days ago. There's a new one I want you to read."

Lee pushed the file forward on the polished oak. He looked outside at the best view of the block.

"Open it."

The first page contained the picture and public records of a young man, snapped on a Dublin street at night.

"Aidan Turner," Dean tested the name on his tongue as he looked at the handsome curly-haired young man in the photo. "Irish...24 years old...a pharmaceutical toxicologist," he listed off as he read. "What's this guy have to do with Milk?" he wondered.

"Potentially," Lee turned back into the room, "the chief manufacturer. He's got the right background, the right connections, and he shows up on the radar wherever there's an incident within several hours. Usually, it's less than an hour. But we've got no hard evidence against him yet. That's where you come in."

Lee sat back down and pulled out another folder; Dean's own. He quirked an eyebrow. "It says right here your coworkers profile you as 'fairly single' and 'a hundred and ten percent heterosexual'. Nevertheless you've got a history in plays during your university years in which you portrayed a gay role several times. Aidan is an out of the closet gay man. You're not married and fairly handsome. Which makes you the perfect candidate to get close to him."

Dean chuckled at the 'hundred and ten percent heterosexual' perception. Truth be told, he was—aside from a drunken encounter in college after a cast party which he'd quickly nipped in the bud. Apparently, he'd made himself seem available, which in his line of work was a valued skill.

"How do I relate to this guy? Where are you putting me?" he asked of Lee, but his eyes were on the face in the photo.

"Ireland," Lee said. "I don't care how you relate, but make sure that you do. We've received intel on a potential other undercover agent, not one of ours, so there's no time to waste. You'll be on a plane tomorrow. Everything you need on him is in the file. Places he frequents, phone calls, the lot. Find common ground, then get him to open up to you."

Lee closed Dean's file. "I know that what I'm asking may not be the best incentive to seduce a gay man. Bring this to a good end, and I can assure you a promotion or a bonus, whichever your choice. I'm counting on you." Which sounded surprisingly much like a dismissal.

"I won't let you down, Mr. Pace," Dean reached for and shook his hand.


	2. And Then There Were Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean arrives for his assignment and meets his mark. As it turns out, he's not the only agent who's been sent to do the exact same thing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aidan Turner, Lee Pace and Adam Brown written by BlueMonkey
> 
> Dean O'Gorman and Richard Armitage written by ThornyHedge

Two days later found Dean in Dublin, ensconced in a small but secure and well-appointed flat maintained by the agency.

Dean had spent many hours scouring the folder containing information on Aidan Turner.

The young man worked in the laboratories at ChemTrex Pharmaceuticals, a large firm, which thankfully had many job openings. While none existed in any of the labs, CIA ties were able to set Dean up as a technical writer, with an office on the same floor as Turner's lab.

Within the week, he'd made himself at home in the small space and established himself sufficiently with a few of his peers. That accomplished, it was time to make an effort to go meet Aidan at last.

Dean opened the door to the lab where Aidan worked and spotted him immediately. He wore a white lab coat over his clothing and was sitting at a work station listening to music on ear buds as he worked. Dean did a double take. This harmless-looking, curly-haired man looked nothing like the dark, swarthy fellow who’d been captured on film and profiled in the folder he’d been given. 

This guy… well, he was downright adorable. He picked up a bagel and took a chomp, bopping his head to whatever he was listening to. Dean felt immediately drawn to him and couldn’t help smiling. But he wanted Aidan to notice him first, so he pretended to be simply looking around.

Unknowing of the plans made around his person, Aidan chewed on his bagel as he listened to AC/DC through his earphones. The laboratory itself was sound-sterile, with only the occasional hum of a centrifuge or a refrigerated storage opening and closing. He moved his head along to the music as he checked a toxicity screen for a new batch of pills.

He noticed a guy in a suit twenty shades too sophisticated for this place and knew that he wasn't supposed to be here. Probably new. But the man kept standing there, looking around, so at last he took out his earphones and asked, "Looking for someone?"

"I'm new," Dean smiled at him. "Technical writer. Dean O'Gorman," he extended his hand. When Aidan stood, his eyes followed his height. "Today my goal is to explore a bit. So far I've been through almost every door on this level that doesn't say 'Restricted Access' on it."

Aidan laughed at the stranger. "No, but this one does tell you that you can't come in without a lab coat. Especially dressed in a suit like that. Hop to it, Dean O'Gorman. On your left."

Aidan waited in amusement for this pleasant distraction from his monotonous work to get the proper outfit from the wall before he slipped off his latex gloves and extended his own chalk-powdery hand. "Aidan Turner. So, you're new and already you've got the time to wander around. What's up with that?"

"Best time for wandering's when you're new. I can always use the 'I'm lost' defense, now can't I?" Dean put on a lab coat. "I was hired to write," he told Aidan, "but this looks like a lot more fun. What goes on in here?" He looked around the lab in wonder. "They're sure to make me write about it eventually."

"It's not that much fun," Aidan said. It was far beneath his capacity, and the work was as unchallenging as it was the same, day in, day out. It was close to family though and it paid him well. In a few years' time he'd have enough experience to get a better job. "I'm sure writing is better. But we make our own fun, and thank goodness we don't have as many work targets as everyone else here does." He looked Dean over. A technical writer. Those writers he knew were stuffy people. Not this man. He walked around like he owned the place. Already.

"We test meds to make sure we're not accidentally poisoning anyone." Aidan took another bite from his bagel. "All you'll probably do is liven up our reports. So how did you get here? As in, what did you do before this?"

"I worked in the States... near Washington, D.C.. Bigger company, but I was looking to relocate. I did some online research. Dublin seemed cool," Dean smiled, shrugging. "I've met some neat people, which helps me know I made the right choice." 

He eyed Aidan's bagel distrustfully. "It doesn't make you nervous, eating food around all these chemicals?"

"That's what Richard said too!" Aidan demonstrated how okay he was with eating in the lab by taking another bite. "He's new too. Came walking in here the same way you did, actually. He's in quality maintenance. Make sure to look him up some time." Aidan spoke fondly of him in a way that made his eyes twinkle. "It's fine, you know. This place is safe. All I do here is run some checks by a computer. The heavy work is down in the basement labs."

"I'm not surprised you have a lot of new folks running around. When I submitted my resume, there were over twenty openings listed on your website. The company must be doing well...or people hate it here," Dean smiled. 

He made a mental note to check out this Richard character. The way Aidan smiled when he spoke of him led Dean to believe he was a little fond of him. Lee had mentioned there might be another operative running around trying to get close to Aidan. 

"Basement labs, eh?" he followed up. "Sounds like something out of _Frankenstein._ "

"But the basements are where the fun happens," Aidan leaned closed and confided with amusement. "There's so much fun to be had with the lab equipment there, if you know what you're doing."

He liked this Dean character, for some reason, though Aidan liked people easily, so he wondered what actually made him think so. It was probably the suit. Before he knew it, he said, "Try a red tie with that suit some time. I think it'll look really good."

"Red you say?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "I've never been terribly good with dressing creatively. I still need to do some shopping for work clothes. I didn't bring many with me, and I feel really overdressed most days. Maybe you could help? I mean, if you have free time. I wouldn't even know where to begin," he shrugged helplessly, filing away Aidan's comments about the downstairs labs. "I need at least three new outfits. Maybe four," he mused. "It'd be a lot easier if I could cover up with a lab coat all day."

Something in the background buzzed, and Aidan snapped out of his thoughts. The man didn't know how to dress. Pity. For a second there, Aidan had really thought...

Oh well. Apparently he was wrong. "We've been talking for five minutes," he said apologetically. "That'd be a little awkward. But I tell you what, you can send me pictures of what you already have and I'll pass my judgment onto you. My phone number's on the company contacts list." He didn't tell Dean that it automatically meant he had access to Dean's number as well. Only if Dean brought it up.

Dean knew he had to feign disappointment, but he actually _felt_ disappointed, so it wasn't difficult. "I'll do that—text you some photos, I mean. As long as you promise not to make fun of my bad wardrobe choices," he added. "I have a lot more exploring to do," he smiled. "But I'm glad I came here, Aidan. If you ever want to have lunch or coffee or, y'know, just want to get out of the house...you could do worse for company than me. You're only the second person I've met here that I really like." He started for the door.

Aidan thought about that, and laughed to himself. Well, he'd be damned. This guy had actually caught him there.

"Who's the first?" he called after him.

"The guy who hired me," Dean smirked and hung up his lab coat. "See you around, Aidan Turner," he gave a half-wave, half-salute and left the lab.

"Yeah."

The lab was quieter as soon as Dean left. It was still a little weird to have a guy talk to him out of nowhere—a good-looking guy at that—and be off as suddenly as he'd come. Aidan found himself frequently thinking back on that odd encounter during the day. Just in case Dean actually would send him pictures, he jotted down his number in his phone, then sent a message to Richard to tell him about it the weird thing that had happened that morning, and that he definitely needed to look him up.

When Dean got back to his flat that evening, he pulled two of his rattier looking suits, three dress shirts and a couple drab ties from his closet. 

Then, re-thinking, he also pulled out a pink tie, and a paisley, then laid the outfits out semi-artfully before snapping a photo and send it off to Aidan.

 _My wardrobe,_ it said. _Will you be the wardrobe whisperer?_

He chuckled and lay down on the bed, thinking about his encounter with Aidan. He genuinely liked the guy, and he was way easy on the eyes. Aidan's comments about the basement disturbed him a bit. He didn't want Aidan to be the Milkman—which was what he and Adam had jokingly started calling Milk's inventor before Dean left for Ireland. 

"It's _udder_ nonsense," Dean smiled up at the ceiling, thoughts traveling back to Aidan's smile and the way his throat had moved when he swallowed.

The response came half an hour later—to the minute.

_That's the biggest malfunctioning wardrobe I've ever seen. Please tell me you're joking._

Aidan had nearly typed, _straightest_ , but that wouldn't be nice.

_You clearly wore your finest today._

Dean chuckled and texted back. _Guilty. You should see the stuff I'm too embarrassed to photograph._

He clicked send and was surprised at how eagerly he awaited Aidan's reply.

\- - - - - 

Meanwhile, across town, Richard Armitage was on the phone. "Luke?" He asked his handler. "Can you a run a name through our database and see if anything unusual floats to the top? O'Gorman. Dean O'Gorman. Maybe it's nothing. It's probably nothing. Just a hunch. Appreciate it, thanks."

He hung up and looked in the mirror, smiling a cocky smile. "Game on, O'Gorman."

\- - - - - 

As it happened, Aidan got the message far too fast. He thought it was funny because, as many distant friends and close colleagues as he had, he never really texted them outside of work, and now he had two people apparently willing to frequently hear from him.

 _If this is your finest, then I might just have to take you shopping. I bet sky blue would look good with your hair. Bit too much for a suit though. Maybe as a dress shirt, or as an accent._ The message got too long far too easily, so he quickly pressed send and stared at the picture once again.

Actually, he'd like the ratty shirts on Dean. The suits were nice, but they were also very formal. And comfortable shirts with nice prints would be good on him. Nice and tight ones to show off his body. Aidan caught himself there. He did _not_ just think that.

 _Is it company policy for tech writers to wear suits?_ he sent after.

Dean thought about it. _I don't think I HAVE to, I just wanted to impress my co-workers. Maybe you could just help me pick something appropriate._ Then he added, _You seem to have a good eye._

Aidan did have beautiful, big brown eyes, and Dean really wanted to see them again. _How about this Saturday?_ he shot after. _I could treat you to lunch or dinner, and you could make me look less like a schlub._

Aidan rolled over on the couch. _Well,_ he started, _I can't remember any of the other writers wearing fancy suits. Maybe something casual with a suit jacket to top it off?_

He deliberately didn't yet respond to Dean's invitation for dinner, because he still wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that.

 _Just tell me you'll be there to help me,_ Dean returned. _We don't have to get a meal or anything. But if you could suggest a store and maybe meet me there...? Remember, I am not from around here._

It took five minutes before the next message appeared. Aidan wondered if he wasn't doing something incredibly stupid by agreeing. But how stupid could it be? He wanted to. _There's some stores I think you'll like. You win. This Saturday? You realize you're going shopping with a guy, right?_

 _OMG, you're a guy?!_ Dean chuckled to himself as he texted. _Forget it, the deal's off._

Aidan didn't know how to read that, though it was obvious Dean meant it as a joke. Right. _Just checking if you're okay with a guy friend who likes shopping,_ he sent back. Because that's what it was; testing to see if Dean didn't make an accidental mistake becoming friends with someone gay.

 _And bagels, and AC/DC. All of these are duly noted,_ Dean returned. _Who doesn't like shopping? Maybe we can hit a kitchen store after? I need a wok._

 _You know far too much about me already,_ Aidan joked, though he continued to stare at his screen for some time. Dean was a nice guy, he was sure of that, but the truth was that he seemed a little too eager. He seemed to latch on and commit every tiny detail to memory. Aidan wasn't sure if he was comfortable with that.

 _Technical writer,_ Dean shot back. _I am all about the minutia. Bad habit, sorry. I'll try to be more vague and disinterested Saturday. I promise._

Aidan put it to rest with that. He rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling of his mid-range apartment—not too shabby, not too luxurious. For the good state of the rooms though, it was far too messy. He had to work on that. _Metro Cafe, one o'clock? How's that sound?_

 _Looking fwd to it, Gnite._ was all Dean typed back. 

Dean went to his desk and picked up the company roster he'd printed out. His finger scrolled down to Quality Assurance and found one person named Richard.

He dialed a secure number. "Adam!" he greeted his co-worker. "How's life across the pond?"

"It's lovely, O'Gorman," Dean could hear the smile in his voice. "How's the Milkman?"

"I don't believe I've met him yet. There is no way this kid is making drugs. He's too... nice."

"Hitler was nice," Adam said dryly. "He loved dogs, and art..."

"Can you check on a name for me? Grab a pen," Dean cut in.

"I _always_ have a pen," Adam reminded him.

"Richard Armitage," Dean said, then spelled the last name. "Particularly as the name might pertain to other intelligence agencies. He's been chatting up my target. A lot. I just want to find out what I can about him."

"Got it? Anything else?"

"Yeah. Bite me," Dean smiled. He missed Adam. 

"I tried. You weren't interested," Adam complained. 

Dean chuckled and hung up the phone.

He soon fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Dean might have booked a small victory on talking to Aidan; on Tuesday he could barely get ahold of the man. He either had his music on, impervious to his surroundings, or he wouldn't answer his phone messages because he was busy.

That lunch break, Aidan found Richard in the company cafeteria and sat down next to him with a broad grin. "Hey."

"Aidan," Richard brightened. "Nice to see you. Guess you've had a busy couple of days." The older man didn't say what he actually meant, which was _I've noticed that young, good-looking blonde you've been chatting up._

Instead, he fiddled with his corned beef sandwich. 

"Terribly!" Aidan nodded. "There's a new guy here. I've been talking with him." He nudged Richard playfully. "Kind of like how you and I met. I think you'll like him. Anyway, and very belatedly, tell me about your weekend."

"Not much to speak of," Richard smiled. "I took the train down to Liverpool to visit my grandmother. She's in a retirement home there. They have a lovely garden, which she enjoys. We did some weeding, looked at seed catalogs, had dinner. Just some relaxing family time."

Richard set aside his sandwich. "Another new guy, eh? They seem to be crawling out of the woodwork lately. "I suppose I ought to make an effort to meet him."

"With the number of job openings," Aidan nodded as he removed the paper wrap around his nut bread loaf, broke off a quarter to offer to his friend and tore off a large chunk himself. "Here. Finished this morning. Eat up, they're best when they're still warm. Anyway, yeah, lots of new people lately. Dean's cool. I'll invite him over for lunch some time. I bet you have lots in common. Just seems like it."

Aidan grinned around his mouthful and leaned his shoulder against Richard as a friend. "You're such a nice guy," he continued, "I bet your grandma dotes on you and gives your phone number to the pretty nurses that work there all the time. You should take me there some time. I haven't been outside in an actual garden for ages."

"This is really delicious," Richard told him, after taking a bite of the nut bread. "Did you bake this? You've got some hidden talents." Richard sat back contentedly. " I've heard Dublin has some nice public gardens and conservatories. We could always visit one of those. I'm finding it hard to believe your weekends are already spoken for."

"Mh, saw it on TV some time ago and thought I'd give it a go. It's actually really easy. Not like some of the other recipes I’ve tried. Hey, I've actually got time this weekend. I mean, if you're available on Sunday afternoon. Are you?

"I am," Richard smiled shyly, lowering his eyes, "available that is," he added. "And in answer to your question, yes, my grandmother does try to introduce me to the prettier nurses at the home, but I'm not really interested. She's getting along in years and I haven't had the heart to tell her that I'm gay."

He raised his blue eyes to Aidan's, to gauge his reaction.

Aidan stared at him. Then he laughed. "No way! I'm usually really good with these kinds of things and I didn't pick up any—" He thought about it more as he spoke, then grinned. "Right. Makes so much sense, now that you mention it! Don't worry about me telling anyone. If you hadn't guessed it yet, I'm into men as well. So."

Aidan didn't really know what the 'so' was meant to imply. It had just come out. "Poor nurses."

Richard blushed and chuckled. "Poor nurses, indeed. I hope you won't be hurt if I tell you that I had rather figured out your proclivities, just by watching you and listening to you talk. But, let's not consider this a date...but an outing between friends," he nodded. "It's clear that you and I have a considerable age difference."

"A considerable age difference." Aidan looked him over once. "Are you calling me too young, Mr. Armitage?"

"Aren't you?" Richard smiled softly as he balled up his trash, and stuffed the last bite of nut bread into his mouth. "I'm 39 years old, in case you were wondering. I won't deny that I find you attractive, but I'm also a realist. You were three when I started college, Aidan."

"Which only means you've got tons of experience," countered Aidan.

"I wouldn't say _tons,_ " Richard blushed. "I'm far from prolific in the dating department. You won't learn much from me. If anything, you'd be the one showing me the ropes—so to speak."

At that moment, Dean O'Gorman approached the table, a plastic tray held in both hands. The blond took in the expression on Richard's face and their intimate posture and veered away before sitting down, instead choosing to sit a few tables away.

Richard smiled inwardly. _That's right, blondie,_ he almost grinned, _keep moving._

Aidan wondered if he wanted that. For him to show Richard the ropes. But he didn't see any ill in harmless play, as Richard was obviously playing. "So you're the hopelessly romantic kind of guy?"

But Aidan frowned, distracted, when Dean didn't sit with them. "Hey!" he called after him. "Come over here. This is Richard. Remember me telling you that you should meet? You should meet."

Dean groaned to himself, but smiled and nodded. He gathered his tray and walked over to the pair. "You two looked deep in conversation. I didn't want to intrude." He locked eyes with Richard as he sat down his tray. "I'm Dean," he offered his hand to shake. "Started here last week. Tech Writer."

"Richard, Q.A.," Richard shook his hand curtly. "Aidan speaks of you fondly."

"As he does you," Dean replies, picking up his fork and spearing a piece of cucumber. 

"You're not Irish," Richard observed. "Your surname's Irish." 

"My father's of Irish descent," Dean said around a mouthful of salad. "I'm from..."

"New Zealand," Richard surmised. "I could tell by your accent."

"I was going to say, 'the States,' actually," Dean corrected him. "I've been living and working there since I finished university."

A silence fell between them.

Stuck in the middle, Aidan glanced between them. Well, this was turning out to be a bad idea. They seemed like two roosters in one chicken run, a tension apparent between them from the moment they started talking.

"I would have thought New Zealand too," Aidan admitted in an attempt to ease some of the awkwardness. "But the States, that's incredible. Why did you move here?"

"Bad relationship," Dean was very reticent. "I had always wanted to see Europe, so I decided to move. Some online research led me here. I'm hoping to do some traveling on the weekends once I get the lay of the land here in the city."

"Dublin's nice enough," Richard agreed, "but it would hardly be my first choice of where to live if I were coming from the States."

"I thought my last name might give me a home court advantage," Dean smirked. "It doesn't hurt that I resemble a leprechaun. Is that nut bread?" He asked Aidan. "Smells incredible."

"Yes, it is!" Aidan was quick to tear off another piece and hand it over. "Freshly baked, so please don't choke or something. I'd feel terrible." He nudged the man next to him. "Richard here isn't a local either. He just crossed less water to get here. But I'm glad he did. He's new here too. Only has three weeks on you, would you believe that? He's taking me to the park this Sunday."

"Oh," Dean breathed deeply to maintain a calm exterior. "That should be a fun outing. I'll try not to keep you out so late on Saturday then." He took a satisfied bite of the bread. "This is delicious."

Across from him, Richard seethed silently.


	3. Cue the Snappy Montage Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan and Dean go shopping. Things take a promising turn.

Aidan didn't believe his eyes. He had no idea about the bad vibes between Dean and Richard—and he gaped accordingly. They were both obviously throwing jabs at each other. For what reason they were this hostile he had no clue. He had assumed they didn't know each other. 

"Well, shops are only open until five. I'm sure it'll be fine," he said, sharper than he should have, before he raised himself, not having a taste for being in the middle of a cockfight. "I'm going to go back to the lab. There's some things I need to check up on. You guys enjoy your food, okay?"

"I've got to go as well," Richard stood. "My lunch break's over."

Without another word, he rose and threw away his trash, before departing through another door. Aidan huffed as he saw it and quickened his angry pace.

_You baked that bread yourself, didn't you?_ Dean texted to Aidan after the Brit departed. _It was incredible. I'm sorry I was mean to your friend. I guess I have a bit of a jealous streak._

_Apparently,_ Aidan typed back with a fair amount of frustration. _Look, you're a nice guy,_ and handsome, but he didn't add that, _but we barely know each other. Getting a jealous streak around someone you just met the other day, I don't need that._

_I know, and I'm sorry._ Dean sent back. _I feel terrible. I guess if I said I'd been lonely a long time that would make me look desperate and creepy. I'm none of those things. Well, except lonely._

_Just don't try so hard._ Aidan didn't know whether that was such a nice message. Truth be told, Richard hadn't been his charming self either. They'd both been equally bad.

_How about we'll just go for clothes on Saturday and continue there?_ Which meant that Dean would give him three days to get used to this sudden interest, and it'd give Aidan a bit of a breather to start anew. He still wasn't sure whether that decision was such a good one when he pressed send.

_Sounds good,_ Dean replied. _I really am looking forward to it... even if you'd prefer I didn't. : )_

"Oh my god," Dean said to himself after hitting send. "Dean, you are a fucking idiot."

\- - - - - 

"Fucking idiot!" Richard castigated himself as he removed his work shirt and picked up his secure cell phone that evening at his flat. He dialed Luke Evans at KGB headquarters.

"Yes?" Evans picked up at last, slightly piqued, after three dials. "What is it?"

"Took you long enough," Richard quipped. "Any hits on that name I gave you the other day? Dean O'Gorman?"

The man on the other side of the secure line sighed. "It's four in the morning, you know that, don't you? I was going to call you tomorrow. But yeah. Langley. How about that? Even the CIA want Turner. I trust you’ll have no trouble dealing with him accordingly?"

"I fucking _knew_ it," Richard felt both validated and exhilarated. "I'll keep him at bay. There's a time and a place for these things, Luke. It's why you hired me. Thanks for the intel, mate." He hung up.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," the Brit chuckled as he verified his spare firearm in his sock drawer. "This is going to be so much fun."

That was when he inconveniently received a message from Aidan, well overdue. _What was that today during lunch?_

Richard huffed in annoyance and responded.

_God, Aidan, I wish I could tell you. I was just high from our conversation, I guess. Then Dean showed up and I got all possessive. I'm really sorry. I feel like a fool._

Aidan groaned on the couch, the phone held above him, because these were Dean's words all over. 

_You were high from our conversation? Richard, I'm not a possession._

Two men were acting stupid because of Aidan. One got possessive, the other jealous. He barely knew them, and he certainly hadn't given either of them a reason to demand attention. Aidan truly didn't need this much trouble around him, even if he could consider it to be a great compliment.

_I never viewed you that way, Aidan. We'd just got done confessing things and I got a feeling. I guess it was a stupid one. I thought for a moment you might be interested in me. I didn't mean to go all alpha dog on your friend. He seems like an all right sort._ Richard responded, gritting his teeth against that lie.

But Richard didn't know how right he'd been. Aidan _had_ considered him that way. Especially after he told Aidan he was available, and Aidan had tried to think of reasons why not to fall for this man, and not been able to find any. His eyes were gorgeous. He had the bearings of a gentleman. But the attitudes that both Dean and he had demonstrated today were a big turn-off. Aidan didn't want someone like that. 

_He's straight, you know,_ he sent. _I don't get why you felt the need. How about we just leave this behind us?_

_All right,_ Richard replied. _And if you feel you don't want to get together this weekend, I completely understand._

Pressing send, he looked in the mirror. "Straight, my ass," he said to himself. "I need to up my game."

\- - - - - 

Dean, meanwhile, phoned Adam back. "Any luck on that name I asked you to work your magic on?"

"Richard Armitage?" Adam wondered. "Claire can't stop looking at his pictures and requests she be transferred for backup. So yes. We found him. You've only been there for a few days, and you already found yourself a KGB operative. How do you do this? Let's see. Used to be married, but divorced his wife. Seems to take both women and men for partners these days, though that could be a cover. A degree in literature, aside from military training. This guy's got brains. So where exactly did you say you met this guy?"

Dean groaned, his suspicions confirmed. "He's my co-worker at ChemTrex and he's all over Aidan like a limpet. Literature, huh? Well, that explains everything. He's got this whole sexy professor thing going on. Some days, he even wears a fucking cardigan. Oh, and he's tall, and extremely good looking. I have my work cut out for me. I can tell Aidan's into him."

Admitting this out loud actually caused a pang of hurt in Dean's chest. _Wow, what was that?_ he thought to himself. 

"I need to up my game," he told Adam. "The Prof is going down."

"Dean," Adam warned him. "I shouldn't need to remind you of this, but he's not the target. I know it's worrisome Armitage is there, but in the end you're both after the same thing, aren't you? Finding the manufacturer of Milk, and bringing the ship down. If you need to get into his heart for that to happen, that's what you'll do. But there's nothing in your mission about turning this into a dispute with the KGB. When you're done, you'll leave. Don't get emotionally involved."

Dean was surprised at how easily Adam had pegged him... especially over the phone.

"Aidan seems like a genuinely good guy," Dean explained. "I need, if only for that reason, to keep Richard away from him."

He paused and took a long, slow deep breath. "Meanwhile, if any other intel comes in about where Milk might actually be coming from, let me know, okay?"

"You really don't believe it's him, do you?" Adam paused. "Sure. Keep an eye on your inbox. But Dean, this really is the strongest lead there is. Think about that. He might seem like a nice guy, but he wouldn't be in our system if that's all there is to him." He yawned. "Listen, I'm gonna go. Hang in there, buddy."

"I'll be careful, don't worry. Adam," Dean suddenly felt a rush of homesickness, "you're amazing. I don't tell you that enough. It's dreary here. I can't wait to come home."

Dean hung up feeling terribly sad. He didn't want Aidan to be the Milkman. The idea was simply inconceivable to him. 

"Aidan..." he breathed into the emptiness of his kitchen, "we'll find him. I won't let Armitage take you in."

The next three days, Aidan avoided both Richard and Dean like the plague. He ate at the lab or outside, soaking up some desperately needed sun while he was at it. He did respond to messages, but never tarried or started a conversation on his own. He didn't like doing things this way; nonetheless, when Friday night came round and he still had the weekend to look forward to, he felt much better.

How else was he supposed to respond to this madness of men wanting to be in his company all of a sudden? 

At eleven on Saturday he sent Dean a, _Don't forget. One at the Metro Cafe. You know where to find it, don't you?_ He assumed that by now Dean had looked it up on the internet.

Dean had, of course, the second he'd gotten the invitation. He'd printed out directions as well, but opted to take a cab there instead.

He'd been far too nervous to eat that morning. By the time his stomach started growling around noon he'd figured the shaking hands and hunger would just make him appear more genuinely nervous. He was certain he'd come off too cocksure with Aidan and, in truth, he wasn't. He was pouring on some serious bravado, which he'd always excelled at.

Today, however, he didn't feel like pretending. 

He found Aidan waiting outside on the cafe's patio. The September weather was perfect and sunny and Aidan looked happy. Dean waved at him as he got out of the taxi.

Aidan raised one hand in acknowledgement, then reached for his fag to put it out in the ashtray in front of him. He put his hands in his pockets and waited for Dean to join him while he looked around for a waiter to take their order. Not that he was having much more than a coffee, he'd already decided.

"First time out in Dublin?" he wondered with amusement. "You look like you're lost."

"Well, not my first," Dean confessed, but I will admit I haven't done much exploring. "I guess I've been a little homesick." He looked around. "Sweet little place, this."

"Good food, too." Aidan looked him over. He was glad that Dean didn't already make this feel like a mistake. A promise was a promise, and so Aidan would get Dean some decent clothes he didn't have to be embarrassed about, but he had worried it would be awkward. "How was your week? Starting to sink in yet? I haven't seen you around."

"I've been making an effort to talk to other people. Did you know," Dean leaned towards him conspiratorially, "that there are people in _every, single_ room at ChemTrex? Some rooms have more than one."

He picked up a menu. 

Aidan laughed and shrugged. "Not every room, though for a ChemTrex novice you did well. But good, good. You made some new friends." He felt obliged to talk about Richard; which was why he didn't. Instead Aidan ordered his coffee and cream when the waiter came round, and sat there patiently as Dean ordered his own. "You picked a nice day. They don't usually get this sunny you know, this side of the globe."

"It is nice here. I had heard it rains a lot in Dublin, but I haven't seen much yet," Dean shrugged. "I think the weather is trying to lull me into a false sense of security." He spent a moment looking at the appetizers. "What's your favorite thing on the menu?" he wondered.

Aidan didn't hesitate. "French bread pizza, without a doubt." He would be fine with just his coffee though, having already eaten at home around ten, and he wasn't hungry. That gave him plenty of time to look Dean over as he looked for an order. Eventually he told the waiter, "Could you come back in a minute?" They were probably taking too long. "The weather's probably welcoming you so you want to stay. Is it working yet?"

A second later, he added, "Hey, have you got a favorite color?"

"It's not the weather that's seducing me," Dean blurted out, regretting it instantly. "Burgundy," he immediately added to recover. "I like burgundy."

_Ah._ Aidan nearly pinched the bridge of his nose, except that was something old men would do, and not he. There it was. The awkwardness. Because Aidan certainly wasn't seducing anyone—he'd know if he were—and he didn't see any women around here. What would Dean have him say?

"Burgundy sounds good," he said to smooth over his pause and sudden urge to get up and out of there. "The autumn collection's out right now. I'm sure there'll be plenty of burgundy. We'll look for that. Are you going to order something?"

"Aren't you?" Dean wondered, closing his menu. He could tell by the way Aidan's face fell that he'd said the wrong thing. _Idiot!_ he told himself. He wished the ground would swallow him up.

The waiter returned when he put down his menu. "I'd like the Chicken Crissfield sandwich, with coleslaw," he told him, and turned to Aidan expectantly.

"Just the coffee with cream," Aidan smiled his most disarming smile at the waiter. "Thanks."

He had the decency to wait until he turned to Dean. "So," he said, "if I'm wrong about this, then my apologies in advance. But, judging from the fact that you seem to have no idea what you're doing; you're new at this, aren't you?"

Dean sighed before answering. "When you say _this,_ " he wondered, "are you referring to the fact that everything that comes out of my mouth is really, really idiotic?" He blushed furiously. "There's a reason I became a writer, you know. I am really kinda bad at talking to people. Especially people I want to impress."

He grew silent as the waiter appeared with Aidan's coffee and Dean's Diet Coke. "Thank you," he told him, taking the paper off his straw.

"Is that what you meant?" he asked quietly.

"Uh," Aidan looked at the menu to busy himself. "No. I mean the fact that it can't have escaped your eyes that I like guys, and yet it looks like you keep making these passes at me, which I'm sure you don't mean like that, and you're just...giving me mixed signals, is all."

He didn't want to voice it out loud literally, so Aidan hoped Dean could read between the lines. Because Dean acted like someone who had just come out of the closet and had no idea what he was doing. Aidan definitely didn't want to put that to words in case he was wrong.

"Oh," was all Dean said. He fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers for a moment, before he said, "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Aidan. Believe me when I tell you that's the last thing I want to do. I really like you." He pulled out his wallet and put a $20 note on the table. "I'm so sorry. I should just go." He stood up.

"Hey, come on," Aidan looked up. Great, now he felt guilty. "You don't have to leave. I was actually looking forward to getting some nice clothes on you. I'm just saying..." He looked for words that would keep Dean there, and eventually winced. "Really sorry I said that out loud. I shouldn't have. I'm sure it's just a States thing or something, I just don't know how to respond to someone I've only just met telling me he wants to impress me. If you can try not to do that too much, I'd still very much like to go shopping with you."

Well, that much wasn't a lie. Dean turned out to get a bit too close for comfort whenever he opened his mouth, but he was still a good-looking guy, and Aidan was guilty as hell for taking that into account. Straight or not, Aidan definitely wanted him to try on different shirts that allowed him to imagine the body underneath.

Dean bit his lower lip indecisively and studied Aidan for a moment. "Okay," he agreed, at length. Afraid to say much more, he slid his chair back out and sat down. "But will you please eat _something?_ " he implored, blue eyes wide.

A block away, Richard sighed and lowered his binoculars. He'd followed Aidan from his flat and watched the two of them interact. Aidan might have been disappointed with whatever Dean was telling him, but his pupils didn't lie. There was definitely some desire and curiosity there. And Richard knew Dean would be willing to satisfy Aidan's curiosity.

"Tell me about yourself?" Dean asked of Aidan. "What made you decide to do what you do?"

Unbeknownst, Aidan shrugged and admitted with a chuckle, relieved Dean was staying and changing the subject, "The uh, the green flame in chem class in high school? That's weird, isn't it? I don't know, I started to look things up on the internet from the day I saw that in class and I built my own smoke bomb a few months later. Not that I ever got to set it off in a meadow like I planned to. Mum was so angry with me when she found out. But it's fascinating, isn't it?" He ordered the French bread pizza as soon as the waiter turned their way to pacify Dean. Aidan didn't need much though. He probably wouldn't finish it.

"You? Did you wake up one day and decide you wanted to be a writer?"

Dean thought about it for a moment and then answered. "I wrote silly stories as a kid. You know... robots and dinosaurs," he blushed. "In secondary school, I wrote for the school newspaper. College too. I prefer _fun_ writing to informative. But the dull, dry stuff pays the bills, sadly." He looked over at Aidan's nearly full plate. "You don't have much of an appetite today," he observed.

"I ate already." Aidan looked guilty. Just coffee would have been great, even though he now treated his food like a snack and it was tasty enough regardless. "I bet writing copy is so much different from writing stories. Are you the kind that still plans to write a novel some day? Richard says he does. Some of my friends too."

"Writing a novel would be cool," Dean said, after swallowing a bite of his sandwich, "but then I think of J.K. Rowling, Stephen King, Dan Brown..." he sighed. "Who can compete with that? So, I try to be really good at what I do," he admitted. "I rather enjoy the mental picture of you wearing safety glasses and giggling over your first smoke bomb," he smiled. "How old were you?"

"Fifteen. You can understand why mum thought it was time for a family intervention. I didn't wear safety glasses, by the way. Maybe that's why. But then, you know, I came out and they had other things to be concerned about, like not getting grandkids and stuff. If I make my parents look like they're the worst people alive, they're actually really nice." 

Aidan started to feel comfortable again. "You should write a zombie novel."

Dean chuckled. "I _do_ love horror films," he admitted, then grew silent. "I'm glad you decided to start wearing safety glasses."

"Why?" Aidan grinned, because again he didn't know what to do with the display of care. "I don't build bombs anymore."

"Well, yes, but you do work with chemicals and stuff," Dean said, eyes carefully trained on the sandwich in his hand. "And you have such—" he paused, realizing what he was about to say, and stopped. "It's just safer," he concluded, reaching for his soda and taking a long pull.

Aidan did give Dean some credit for catching himself in time. "It is," he said, before pushing his half-finished meal out in front of him. "I'm done. Sorry. How about we find you some clothes? Oh! And what's your price range? I don't want to offend you by trying on all these clothes you have no interest in buying."

"Well, I don't want to go ape shit," Dean told him. "But I have a pretty decent budget to work with. An uncle of mine passed away last year and left me an inheritance. It helped me fund my move here. He'd be happy to see me buying nicer clothing." Dean found himself not wanting to lie to Aidan. But in some things, it was necessary. "Please," he said, pulling his wallet. "Let me buy your lunch. It's the very least I can do for your help today."

"So mid-range. Got it. I think I know exactly where to take you. Mostly casual, but with some sense of formality." 

There was no rush, and Aidan sat back with another cigarette as soon as he concluded Dean was done with his food, letting him pay for the meal as he wished. He looked Dean over once again. That full conviction he had had before, about Dean being fully straight, it was beginning to waver. Richard had sure taken him by surprise. Who knew? Dean seemed eager enough to get on Aidan's good side, and Aidan couldn't think of any other reason to want that. He was just a chemist, after all.

"Whenever you're ready," he inclined his head.

"I'm ready," Dean smiled. "Is it far? Do we walk?"

"Not far," Aidan said with a telling smile. True to his word, it took them five minutes before they got to the first shop; a trendy men's clothing store with the average clientele having just reached their twenties. "Now," Aidan said, "don't look at the others shopping here. Just let me do the browsing. All you have to do is try things on and decide whether or not you like them."

It wasn't until that moment that Dean made the realization that he'd have to be undressing in front of Aidan. He panicked, then came to the realization that his body wasn't _that_ bad. He was shorter, certainly, but he ate well enough, and went running most mornings.

"Okay," Dean said agreeably, following Aidan around the store. "My waist size is..." but he paused when he realized Aidan had already picked two pairs of slacks in the correct size. "Wow," he breathed.

Nobody needed to tell Aidan more. One a deep grey tweed and one a fashionable cut of worn jeans, he held both articles in front of Dean to see how they looked. The tweed one didn't match well; a lighter hue made all the difference. Inside the shop, Aidan's cigarette habit had been replaced by chewing on his lips in thought.

"These are a good start. But they're worthless if we don't match them with some good shirts. Follow me." 

And off Aidan was, picking out a pale pink-colored tee—then deciding that unfortunately, the color didn't work for Dean—before going for a smoky blue shirt covered at the back with a large slab serif print. Another was a navy jacket with sandy elbow patches, and a couple of tight-fitting single-color basics.

He couldn't help but stop at the belt section and pick up an expensive snake leather specimen.

"Now, you're going to try these on."

Dean watched Aidan's whirlwind of efficiency with a bemused, awed smile. When the brunet handed the clothing to him, their hands brushed and Dean literally felt a jolt of desire. 

_What the blue fuck?_ he tried to maintain his smile. _Why is this happening?_

"I guess it goes without saying that you'll want to see them on me before I buy anything, right?" Dean asked him, eyes dropping to the price tag on the belt.

"Are you kidding me?" Aidan looked him over. "If you don't wear them, I can't judge if they look as good on you as I picture them to be. Never, ever, buy clothes without fitting them first. Unless you've got the same model in a different color already. And then still."

He couldn't wait to see these clothes on Dean. For that reason, he ignored how he was supposed to feel about the moment their hands touched; that was until Aidan figured that, oh well, he could always just think about the man. No harm there. He shrugged casually at that and ignored what Dean would probably be thinking about him right now.

"I trust you," Dean told him, blue eyes solemn, and stepped into the dressing room. "What do you want to see first?" He kicked off his sneakers.

"Oh, you don't know me nearly enough to trust me," Aidan grinned over his shoulders. "Either is fine. If the shirt doesn't go with the pants, we can always try something else."

Dean took off his own jeans and oxford and slipped into the jeans Aidan had chosen. Then were snug and a lower cut than he normally wore. He put on the belt with it, still a little shocked by the price, and the blue shirt.

Dean was amazed at the way the shirt made his eyes glow. Or maybe they were glowing from sheer idiocy. 

He stepped out of the dressing room booth.

Aidan plainly couldn't keep the grin off his face. "We need to get you colored jeans, my friend," he said. Because that shirt looked gorgeous. But not combined with blue jeans; it made Dean look like he was wearing a jumpsuit. A very sexy jumpsuit. But no. "Hold on. I'm getting you a white shirt for that. And black jeans. Be right back!"

He was off before Dean could protest.

Dean watched as Aidan moved as efficiently through the store as if he owned the place. An integral part of Dean's training had been recognizing facial and body language. He didn't have to look twice to put a label to what he'd seen in Aidan's eyes. It was desire. It in equal parts scared and thrilled Dean.

Colored jeans? They came in colors other than blue and black? Who knew?

Aidan returned with khaki for the blue shirt, and black just because black was good with everything. Handing the items over, he pointedly ignored the looks they were given from the shop attendants for passing the limit of allowed items within one cubicle. "The khaki first," he said, and leaned back in the comfortable chair.

Dean looked good. But he could look better.

"Am I scaring you yet?"

Dean shook his head. "I'm fascinated," he admitted, and went back to the dressing room, returning moments later to show the khaki jeans to Aidan. They were a lot tighter around his butt than he normally wore his pants and he blushed when Aidan asked him to turn around for him.

"Fascinated?" Aidan wondered. Dean couldn't be more fascinated than Aidan was, right now, his eyes glued to a tight ass that just—oh, what was he doing? He was scaring his dubiously straight new friend. Aidan straightened himself, cleared his throat, and nodded. "Those two together look good. You should keep them. But since I'm not the one with the wallet, the choice is up to you. What do you think, yourself?"

"I meant, I'm blown away at how effortless you make this process," Dean corrected. "I avoid shopping like the plague. I hate pushy sales people, and I never really know what looks good," he turned and looked in the mirror. "But I like the way this looks. A lot. Thank you." He turned back to Aidan. "Let's get a few more?"

"There's enough you haven't tried yet," Aidan pointed at his cubicle. He smiled. Dean felt less straining to make a good impression already—even if this was the first time he actually did make a good impression with Aidan. Aidan wasn't about to tell him that; it would probably make Dean say something awkward again. "How's the fit? I mean, I'm the last person who should tell you this, but speaking from experience, if it's not comfortable, you're not going to wear it, and that means it'll be wasted money."

"I'm comfortable, physically," Dean clarified. "You don't think these pants are too tight, do you?" he smoothed his hands down over the taut muscles of his ass. "I'm not used to this much... uh... definition," he blushed.

"Oh no." The answer was slightly too fast, and Aidan had to tear his eyes away. Fuck, there was no way someone straight would do this around a man that could find him physically attractive. "Trust me, the definition was just what you needed. But maybe we should add something a little more conservative to the stash as well. Most of your colleagues are stiff pigeons, aren't they?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid so. Not a bunch of party animals, the tech writer set," he smiled. "Work your magic," he bid Aidan.

Richard, meanwhile, lounged unseen outside the shop, a cup of coffee in hand and smiling darkly. If this were a romantic comedy, he mused, some perky upbeat montage music would be playing about now. He wanted to punch something... or some _one_

Aidan shooed Dean back into his cubicle to try on some other things. He'd found a very conservative pair of pants that looked good as well as classy, and yet were fairly casual in the fit. While Dean tried them on, Aidan looked around for new things. But they'd soon depleted the interesting items from the shop, so at last it came down to what Dean wanted to buy.

"I don't get how easy it is to find great clothes for you," he called to Dean, "and yet your wardrobe was dreadful. Please tell me you didn't have a girlfriend buy it all for you."

"No, no," Dean was quick to tell him. "I've always chosen my own clothes. Which probably explains my lack of meaningful relationships."

Again, Aidan didn't get the clarity he was aiming for. But Dean didn't deny anything about the girlfriend part either, so Aidan saw his assumptions once again dwindle to the same conclusion. Straight. "Well, you'll be fending them off soon," he quipped, putting his hands in his pockets. "Which ones do you want? You want to look for more? I think you found quite a few nice ones here already. I usually don't succeed that well in just one shop."

"I don't know about you, but I have all the time in the world today. I mean, if you think we should hit up another shop..." Dean told him, "I wouldn't be set against it. It's not often I have expert help to take advantage of. God knows I need it."

Aidan smiled. "How much are you planning to buy? Because I could do this for another couple hours, but I don't want you to buy more than you intended. We can always come again some other time, right?"

"Yeah," Dean smiled. "You know, either works for me, Aidan. Listen," he put a hand on Aidan's forearm when he returned to take Dean's unwanted garments away. "Your questions aren't wasted on me. I know what you're trying to ask," he looked around them to make sure they weren't being listened to. "I guess, for all intents and purposes, you'd consider me to be straight. I have had a few short-term girlfriends. Never anything spectacular or meaningful. A guy tried to kiss me back in college and I stopped him. Because I didn't find him attractive, not because he was kissing me... understand? I never really declared myself one way or the other. I just didn't experiment."

Dean bit his lip. "I have never met a guy that I've, uh," he paused. "You know...maybe this is a conversation for another time. When there's beer." He chuckled to hide his embarrassment.

Aidan didn't look away from him for a long time. When he finally broke the silence, it was with a kind voice without judgment. "Thanks for clearing it up. I haven't been able to figure that out, because of the confusing messages. But really, be who you are. If you fall for someone who turns out to be a man, so be it. Don't feel forced to consider it just because I do. Okay?"

"Believe me, I'm not," Dean assured him. Turning to look for the cashier, he caught a glimpse of Richard Armitage lurking outside the shop window. He wondered how long he'd been following them around. This asshole was turning out to be a major thorn in Dean's side. 

They'd have to talk. It was inevitable.

"How about we pay, and walk... and see what happens," Dean suggested. "I definitely see ice cream in our future."

"Our very near future?"

The cashier looked between them as they put the articles on the counter, Aidan smiling broadly like a kid in a candy shop while Dean—not seeing him—worked out the financials. Aidan came here frequently, and he loved to chat with people, so he knew the girl and he knew she knew. She was probably putting one and one together as Dean paid.

They left the shop with large bags. Aidan quickly stuffed some bags together and smiled at Dean. "There you go, makes you look less like a shopaholic. And it's more convenient. Now, about that ice cream…"

"Well, provided you can direct me to a shop. New guy in town, remember?" Dean was relieved to find that Richard had made himself scarce. He was self-conscious enough around Aidan without an audience.

"On that note," he added, "what's the night life like around here? Where's the fun? _What's_ the fun?"

Without explaining, Aidan started walking in the direction of the nearest place to buy ice cream. He wasn't picky, so anything basic would do too. "Depends. I actually don't go out that much, unless it's with friends. There's tons of pubs, if that's your thing. But yeah, alcohol's usually the fun. Late night kebabs and lasting hangovers. You know how it goes. It's the same in every city, isn't it?"

"Nice to know there's one thing I won't have to adapt to," Dean's dimples deepened. "A chocolate cone," he said to the teenager behind the counter, and turned to Aidan, "and whatever he wants."

"Oh. Vanilla, please." Aidan nodded. While Dean probably didn't guess it, Aidan had his words deliberately laced with a double meaning. "Well, if you want to know where to go, you should ask Tim from the lab. He always has the Monday morning stories about all the weird things he's done that weekend." Aidan still didn't have a clue about Richard tailing them. Instead, he watched as Dean licked from his cone and thought to himself that this man walking next to him was one fine specimen. Who had no idea how good he looked.

Boyfriend material? Not really. Aidan didn't want to be that guy talking a curious man into trying things, only to have it blow up in his face. He wasn't an experiment. That's how those first time things usually went.

Definitely eye candy, though.

Maybe a friend.

Dean tried to figure out what Aidan was thinking and gave up. His face was like a kaleidoscope. He tried to imagine Aidan as the Milkman, and realized he couldn't even imagine Aidan stealing a candy bar. This man was no criminal. The only thing he was guilty of was stealing Dean's heart. 

Dean groaned inwardly. _I need therapy. I need to fly home and get fucking therapy._

But as a little boy with a puppy walked past and Aidan knelt to pet the little Corgi and it licked his face, Dean felt his heart lurch.

He was far gone.

When Aidan got up, he did wipe his face for good measure, then took a long and satisfying draw from his own cone. "This ice cream—just what I needed. Come on. I know you're here for shopping, but you keep saying you're new around here. Might as well show you some of the beauties of the city while we have the time, and get you a little street savvy."

Dean had thankfully stopped making awkward comments a while back, and Aidan didn't at all regret going through with the shopping. He started walking in the direction of the nearest park. Technically, that was where he was supposed to go with Richard the following day, but you couldn't overload on parks, now could you?

"I wouldn't have believed a place this natural could be found here in the center of town," Dean marveled. Mums and other fall flowers were in full bloom. "What would you call this color?" he pointed to a rust-colored flower. "Because I'm fond of it as well."

The strange and out of place comment drew a laugh from Aidan. "You're so weird sometimes, you know that? Dublin's got many parks. I suppose it's vermillion, or copper. What else are you fond of?"

"Vermillion," Dean tested the word on his tongue. "I like that. That color, I'd suggest _you_ wear," he shrugged. "Uh, I like to run, early in the morning. I draw... badly. Music. Most kinds. Well, not so much country."

Aidan's grin got bigger. "Thank god. Well, how about we find ourselves a clothing store on the way there and if it's nice, I'll show you how vermillion looks on me." In truth, it made him look pale most of the times. But he liked the idea of showing Dean more than he liked saying that.

The pair visited two more shops that afternoon and Dean spent way more money than the CIA would be willing to approve. He had no problem reimbursing from his own account, however. The clothes made him look… hot.

He was entranced by Aidan. Although he'd only known him ten days or so, he felt certain that Aidan was no criminal. Dean was known for his instincts, and his mind was telling him that Aidan was not a threat.

His heart, however, was telling him something entirely different. A smart person would have packed up and left, leaving the mission to someone less emotionally involved. But Dean didn't want to leave. 

He had to know... did Aidan have feelings for him?

When he got home that evening, he looked up Aidan's address on the employee contact list and decided to camp out early, so that he could follow Aidan and Richard on their Sunday adventures. He fell asleep picturing Aidan's deep brown eyes and hearing his throaty laugh.


	4. Sinfully Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan spends the day in the park with Richard. Then, Dean finally gets the courage to invite himself over to Aidan's apartment.

Unfortunately for Dean, Aidan didn't leave his house until around two in the afternoon that Sunday, and Richard was nowhere in sight; they had planned to meet up in the park. He was forced to follow Aidan as he took the DART line—another new thing on his list—and while Aidan was easy enough to spy on, there were several times that he had to duck when the man looked around, enjoying the Sunday afternoon glow.

When they arrived at the park, he had to duck once more, because Aidan started actively searching for Richard, and nearly saw Dean until he caught sight of Richard and quickly made his way over to him.

"Hey," Aidan smiled up to the taller frame. "What's up?"

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" Richard greeted him. He wore jeans and a retro Depeche Mode t-shirt. A pair of sunglasses graced the top of his head. "Folks keep telling me Dublin is rainy, but the weather hasn't backed up that statement yet."

"Beautiful days match beautiful company," Aidan smiled with cheek, leaving it in the middle which one out of them was supposed to be the beautiful company. "You're absolutely right, I shouldn't be inside on a day like this. Especially around here, where sun is rare. Let's walk."

"All right," Richard smiled, blue eyes searching Aidan's face. "You seem—I don't know—a little different today, if you don't mind my saying so," he added. "Good day yesterday?"

"Different?" Aidan had no idea why that would be. "Maybe it's because you’re seeing me in daylight for the first time. I hope I don't disappoint. Yesterday was nice."

"Maybe that's it. Daylight," he mused. "Incandescent lighting isn't kind to most of us. You seem like one of those guys who can get away without sunscreen too. Lucky bastard," he smiled. "I'm like a vampire in the sun." 

The solution to that was simple. Aidan led them to shade and stayed there. It was one of those uncannily hot days anyway, and he was already beginning to feel its effects. "You're not exactly a vampire, you know. I'm sure you can get yourself a tan if you wanted to. And it wouldn't look half bad. Sorry if I get a bit lazy though. Didn't sleep well. You know that feeling like you're being watched?"

"I know it all too well," Richard sat forward a bit. "Do you feel you're being watched right now?" he looked around slowly.

"Not now. But yesterday when I was trying to sleep. That doesn't make sense, and I'm sure part of it is the heat. I'm just lazy. So if you want to sit down somewhere, just remember I might fall asleep on you." Aidan stuffed his hands in his pockets and smiled apologetically.

"Well," Richard put a hand over Aidan's, "I'm no psychologist, but I am pretty good at observing people. I get the feeling you're not used to being the center of attention. I know I've been rather dependent on your friendship—and it seems pretty certain that Dean is as well. Maybe we're smothering you and you're feeling overwhelmed. Promise me you'll tell me if I make you feel weird, okay?"

Aidan lit up like an understood teen. "Exactly! Well, Dean eased up at last yesterday; thank god for that. He's a nice guy, but he really freaked me out with the amount of attention he gave me at first. And you seem to be doing better too," he noticed. "Sorry if I've been giving you trouble about it, but you understand, don't you?"

"Well, I'm not so sure about that. Understanding I mean," Richard clarified. "I get that you're shy, but you're also young, single, gay and exceptionally attractive. Aren't you trying to find the right man—or at least date? God, when I was your age…" Richard smiled at the memory, "nothing could stop me."

"I'm not shy," Aidan frowned. "And attention is nice. But both of you haven't exactly had impeccable timing or measure. If it happens, it happens, right?" The smile returned. "That's what I think, at least. Maybe I'm just a hopeless romantic. Besides, it'd be weird to picture either of you like that. We're friends."

He was aware he'd just friend-zoned an attractive, possibly interested man. But he also knew that if he gave Richard a little leeway here, Richard was likely to take it further than Aidan wanted. "I'm finding it difficult to picture you out on the hunt," he chuckled. "Tell me about that."

Richard groaned and tilted his head back with a huff of laughter. "It wasn't a pretty sight. Oh, don't get me wrong. I looked amazing," he clarified. "But oh, I was awful. So aggressive and cocky. I _prowled._ I've grown up since then," he assured Aidan. "I'm much more subtle now."

"Really?" Aidan laughed. "I can't for the life of me picture you prowling. Pity I never witnessed it, then. We should go out to a bar sometime. You know, see if you've still got it."

"I suppose we could..." Richard stretched and cracked his back, arms up high and, in a deliberate move, lowered one arm over Aidan's shoulders, "or I could practice my new and improved older man moves on you." His eyes met Aidan's.

From his rental car in the parking lot on a hill overlooking the pair, Dean groaned at Richard's action, nearly dropping his binoculars. "Repulsive," he hissed. "Get your hands off him."

Aidan stared at the arm, then back at Richard, then back at the arm. "I do hope you haven't started yet, because that's the corniest move in the books."

"I know," Richard ran his thumb over Aidan's shoulder in a feather light touch. "But it got your attention, didn't it?"

Dean, meanwhile, was on the phone. "Stephen?" he asked when his teammate answered. "Can you give me a list of the effects of Milk?"

Aidan squirmed out from under the arm. He didn't mind the flirtatious exchanges between them, but he felt slightly awkward at this unoriginal move. "This doesn't convince me of any predatory skills you used to have."

Meanwhile, Stephen sighed. "Dean, that's in your file."

"Good boy," Stephen could hear the smile in Dean's voice. "Sorry, mate. Meant Aidan, not you. I'm sorry," he went on. "I don’t have the file with me.”

He gloated at Richard's expression. "Douche," Dean breathed. "Yeah, you just keep up those smooth moves, grandpa."

On the other side of the line, Stephen groaned. "Who're you talking to? Look, sorry mate. I've just had a shit day. Give me a moment to look it up for you, okay?"

There sounded muffled rummaging and then typing. "Oh, hold on. It should be here somewhere." But it took longer still, before Stephen sighed again. "Can I call you back for this?"

Meanwhile, Aidan had managed to get rid of the arm. He leaned back with more comfort. "Have you been in long relationships?" he suddenly asked. The tentative look on his face suggested that Aidan had not.

"Depends on what you'd consider long," Richard answered him. "I was married for 10 years," he said darkly. "It was before I came to terms with who I was and what I wanted."

He looked down at his left hand as if the ring were still there. "No children," he answered, as if anticipating the question. "Not that I would have minded. I love kids. We were just both very career-driven at the time."

Aidan sat stunned, not having expected that. He feebly said, "Well, you married young," because if that was ten years before he started going out, and he went out at Aidan's age.… "What was it like? I mean, when it was still good. Somehow whatever I try, for me it never extends past a few months at best."

Richard looked terribly sad for a moment. "It was... wonderful. She was my best friend. I think that's so crucial, Aidan. Being friends first. You can't just hook up with someone because you find them mind-blowingly hot and then expect to have a solid relationship. You have to have a core of mutual acceptance and understanding first. Phew, okay..." he smiled, breaking the somber mood. "I sound like a therapist.

"No, it's good." Aidan shook his head. "I guess now you know why I'm not out there. It's fun, don't get me wrong. But there's that moment where you start to wonder if it just won't work because it's you. And with friends, I'm always afraid to ruin things…" He smiled. "I hope you'll find someone like that again."

"Truth be told, I'm not sure what I want," Richard admitted. "I just don't want to be alone in my old age. God," he groaned, "how depressing is that?

"Aidan, my friend," he turned to the younger man, "you are young, smart, good looking. You will get what you want. You just need to decide what—or who—it is, and go for it. Anyone who pushes you away would be a fool," he said softly.

Aidan leaned his head amicably against Richard's shoulder. "The problem's not finding people," he said. "The problem's in keeping them. You're a good guy. Thanks for putting up with me. You'll find someone to grow old with. You're that kind of guy."

At that moment, Stephen interrupted Dean's focus by calling him back.

"Hey," he said. "Sorry it took some time. You wanted symptoms, right? Well, other than it being irreversibly addictive from the first time as well as physically destructive, it says here there's—" he paused, "—dehydration, loss of appetite, itchy skin, in rare cases loss of sight, and loss of weight. Chances of kidney failure after consistent use. Yellowish nails. And sometimes, in the case of brain damage, the addicted may start slurring or forget words."

_Loss of appetite._

The words reverberated in Dean's mind as he thought of Aidan pushing his plate away and giving his nut bread away to others. But no, Aidan wouldn't be able to be an addict and complete the type of work he did.

"I guess I'm curious," Dean pursued, "why do people take this drug? What does it do for you?'

"Euphoria," Stephen said simply. "It doesn't give extra energy—or I suppose indirectly it might—and it's not a hallucinogenic. But for a duration of several hours, you feel good. Nothing negative is said to reach the user until it wears out, and that's usually when depression kicks in. But for the duration of the drug, it feels like nothing can go wrong."

"Thank you, Stephen," Dean looked across the way, where Aidan had his head on Richard's shoulder. 

On a day like today, it wasn't hard to understand the appeal of a drug like that.

\- - - - - 

Two weeks passed. Getting close to someone took time, and being trusted took longer—the CIA was well aware of that fact. While Dean was not constrained by time, he was certainly encouraged by urgency. Every day he failed to find out anything about Milk and its production was another day the drug was out on the streets.

Neither Richard nor Dean made a move to confront the other, but as Aidan freely shared his plans with both men, they had little trouble spying on his activities.

So, while Aidan didn't know, he was monitored nearly every hour of the day. His nights were sleepless more often lately because the feeling of being watched didn't leave. He normally never had trouble with it on this scale. It made his sleep short and the bags under his eyes more noticeable when he was at work.

Nevertheless, whenever Dean or Richard would make an appearance, he felt his spirits lift and asked either of them if they wanted to hang out later or have lunch together. They still didn't tolerate each other's presence, which meant that Aidan divided his time equally between the two men responsible for his lack of sleep, in all the wrong ways.

Dean and Aidan took their lunches outdoors one afternoon. In the warm, bright sun, it was difficult for Dean not to notice Aidan's haggard appearance.

"Aidan?" he asked cautiously, pulling a turkey sandwich from his lunch bag, "have you been sleeping? I didn't want to say anything, but... well, it's weighing on me. Are you feeling all right?"

Aidan pulled another loaf of nut bread from his bag and unwrapped it. "Of course I am," he smiled. "Just a bit of trouble getting sleep lately. I don't know why, but I'm sure it'll get better as soon as it cools down outside." He took a large bite of his loaf, which he visibly enjoyed. "There's a bunch of impossible deadlines too, but that's cool. I bet you have the same, anyway."

"I do," Dean admitted, "but I'm not the type to take my work home with me—mentally or physically. I try not to sweat the small stuff," he smiled. "What's your weekend look like? Any plans tonight?" he wondered, thinking he might be able to take Aidan to some sort of physical activity that might wear him out enough to sleep more soundly.

"My weekends consist of lazy abuse of free time." That meant sleeping and doing useless things that couldn't possibly tire him out any further. "Watching TV shows and eating, basically. That's usually what I do on week days too, when there's not people coming over. And them I usually kick out before eleven. So that's not it. But I haven't got anything planned tonight, if you must know. Turning in early doesn't work."

"How would you feel about me, maybe, coming over and making you dinner?" Dean said the words before he lost courage. "I don't have a huge amount of recipes in my arsenal, but I have some tried and true favorites. I could bring some wine as well," he suggested. I mean, it's Friday, after all," Dean reminded him. "It's okay to stay up late on Friday."

Aidan watched with a raised eyebrow. "Is this your way of getting me drunk, Mr. O'Gorman?" In contrast to his words, he shrugged and chuckled, "Yeah, sure. If you tell me what to buy, I can hop by the store on my way home."

"You don't have to buy a thing," Dean held up a finger. "Unless you have a favorite wine. I'll take care of the food. And I don't intend to get you drunk, Aidan. Not too drunk anyway. You're a big enough handful when you're sober," he smiled. 

"Is there anything you _don't_ like to eat?" the blond wondered. "I have some recipes I picked up in the States I'd love to try on you."

"Seafood. Uh. That's about it. And organ meat. Wait, so I invite you into my home and in return, you pay my food?" Aidan took another bite. "Absolutely. What are you planning on making?"

Oh god. Aidan just realized he still needed to clean his house.

"Eating out is also fine, if it's too much trouble tonight," he tried hopefully.

"Would you rather do it another time?" Dean tried not to look crestfallen. "If you're worried about your house being too messy or something... it's all right. I don't care about that." 

He did, actually. Dean was a bit of a neat freak, but Aidan didn't need to know that. 

"I just need room to work. And a heat source—preferably not a Bunsen burner," he grinned. "I was thinking chicken pot pie."

"Well, it is a mess..." Aidan inwardly calculated how long it was going to take before he'd get his place presentable. At least he didn't have to worry about the bathroom or the bed, which cut down on some time. "But if you give me an hour in advance, I think it'll be fine. I have no idea what to think about chicken pot pie. Is it spicy?"

"It's absolutely not spicy," Dean told him. "I took a road trip up to Pennsylvania Amish country one weekend and discovered it there. It's primarily dough, chicken and vegetables. Certain spices like saffron give it color and flavor. You'll love it. You'll see."

"I'm sure it'll take me at least an hour to shop and get ready," Dean told him. "Please don't feel obligated to do anything special for me. I'm just looking forward to hanging out. Oh, and do you have a big mixing bowl, a soup pot and a rolling pin?"

"I make bread, remember?" Aidan smiled. He looked forward to it. From a bit of a rocky start, Dean had stopped throwing in awkward comments here and there and in their absence, Aidan had really started to appreciate Dean's comments about work and what he liked to do in his spare time. Aidan thought capturing people on camera was beautiful. He had been astounded by how easily Dean had gotten people to take their pictures, one day in the park. Gone was the bumbling self-awareness.

He got up to start heading back, waiting up for Dean. "Am I allowed to Google it? Because it sounds good..."

"Don't you dare! It'll take all the mystery out of it!" Dean made to grab for Aidan's cell phone and slipped, winding up practically on his lap. "Ugh," he groaned, knowing exactly what Aidan would think of his supposed clumsiness. "Sorry, Aidan."

"Hey, I get that I'm irresistible, but you could just tell me, you know," Aidan let slip. When he realized that he usually made these kinds of comments with Richard and never with Dean, he had the decency to look embarrassed. "Uh, sorry. It's kind of a thing between Richard and I, I forgot you don't... well, anyway. I promise I won't Google. Cross my heart."

Dean met his eyes and took a chance. "Aidan, you _are_ irresistible."

There was a beat of stunned silence on Aidan's part. "Anyway," Dean broke it, leaning to pick up his fallen lunch bag, "I'll see you tonight. Six o'clock work?"

"Seven thirty?" Aidan had cleaning to do. He'd never expected Dean to sort of play along, so that was definitely a first. He didn't know what to do with that though. "I'll text you the address."

"Seven thirty's good too," Dean smiled, depositing his trash in a nearby receptacle. "I hope you like it, Aidan," he said, face serious, before he turned to go. "I'll keep an eye out for your text." He left with a wave.

Across the quad, Richard watched their exchange from behind his newspaper. This did not bode well.

"I'm sure I will," Aidan said quietly to himself, still surprised. He didn't see Richard there, but he did soon see him as he returned to his workplace. Aidan in fact didn't want to talk to anyone right now; he had things that wouldn't leave his mind.

Nonetheless he said, "Hey. How's the Portman audit been?"

"A laugh a minute," Richard deadpanned. "I can hardly control my enthusiasm." He took a good look at Aidan. "My boy, you're practically glowing," he observed, raising an eyebrow. "Sampling the products?"

"Nope," the other shook his head, "and I don't think you'll hear about it today, so don't try."

The Portman audit had been an important event that they'd been working towards for weeks. So Aidan took it that it hadn't gone the best it could have gone. "Plans for the weekend?"

"Not a one," Richard told him. "I thought I might try to get tickets to a show. 'Mamma Mia's' retro-touring. I never got to see it the first time around. Does going along interest you in the slightest?" he fumbled with the crease in his trousers as he asked.

Aidan thought about it with distraction, but it did seem like a nice thing. He hadn't been to a musical in ages. "Sure," he said, "I think I might be free on Sunday." Aidan smiled amicably. "Sounds like fun. Just let me know what time when you get the tickets."

He then waved awkwardly at his station. "I uh, I've got a lot to do, so I'd better get to it. But let me know, okay?"

But as soon as Richard was gone, Aidan's thoughts strayed back to Dean, and even though he sent him his address and then didn't speak to him again all afternoon, by seven thirty that evening he had his apartment—or the public areas thereof—spic and span and waited with something he recognized as anticipation.

At precisely 7:30, Aidan's doorbell rang. He opened the door to find Dean, laden down with two brown bags full of groceries. "Hey," Dean smiled at him. "I hope you're hungry."

He was wearing the jeans Aidan had chosen during their first shopping trip.

"Famished." Aidan closed the door behind them and enjoyed the unexpected sight of Dean's taut behind as he walked to the kitchen. "I haven't looked it up, like I promised. But I can watch as you make it, right?" All the while Aidan looked at Dean's face carefully, expecting him to be disappointed in his tiny kitchenette. Even though it did have an expensive oven built in.

"You can even help, if you'd like," Dean suggested, setting down the two bags and unloading their contents to the counter.

"Now," he cautioned, "Pennsylvania Dutch protocol would have me cooking down a chicken. But it's late and I'm hungry, so I kinda glossed over that step." He pulled a hot, fully-cooked chicken from the bag. "But we will make and boil the dough. Can you start a soup pot, about half full of water, boiling for me?"

Several cans of sliced potatoes, an onion, some saffron and chicken broth joined the flour and eggs on the counter.

It turned or that not a lot still needed to be done. Aidan put on a pan, before hopping onto the counter where he wouldn't be in the way. "You did most of it already, didn't you?" he mused. "I hoped you still had to do everything. I like watching people cook and steal their tricks when they're not paying attention. So can I look it up now?"

"Nope," Dean smiled mischievously. "We need to make dough. It's the principle ingredient, and it _has_ to be from scratch. Hand me a nice big mixing bowl."

When Aidan did, Dean added an entire pound of flour, four eggs, 1/4 cup of butter, 1/2 cup of water and a few teaspoons of salt. "Well? He looked at Aidan. "Start stirring. When it gets too hard to stir, use your hands. We'll make three balls out of it."

This was what Aidan loved. He put some flour on his hands and started, enjoying the feel of soft but lumpy dough between his fingers, and the sweet, starchy smell. For a while he didn't pay attention to Dean, and that was for the best, really. Several times that afternoon, he'd thought of his friend and wondered. Most of those times, he'd rebuked those thoughts with logic, but once or twice he'd truly considered it—and it hadn't been such a bad thought.

So, he busied himself with the dough until he was sure that kneading it any longer would ruin it. Then he handed it over and, with still powdery hands, sat back on the counter. "You're trying to knock me into the worst after dinner slump, aren't you?"

"There's a reason why the Amish are so relaxed and happy," Dean said, using his hands to put flour on the rolling pin, an act that was impossible not to perform suggestively, even by an old Mennonite woman. "I'm convinced it's chicken pot pie."

Do you want to pluck the chicken meat off the bones... or roll and cut the dough?"

Aidan did look at it. Then he took the rolling pin, and with it he gave his answer. He didn't like plucking meat off once living things—though he was fine with it if it was done for him.

Once he stood with his back facing Dean again, he mused, "Who knows. Maybe it helps, maybe it doesn't. Either way it'll be fun. If I fall asleep on you, don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Roll it as thin as you can," Dean advised, coming up behind him. "You see how hard it is. Much harder than bread or cookie dough." He reached around Aidan from both sides and put his hands over Aidan's. "You really need to press down, at an almost 90 degree angle. Feel that?" his breath was warm on the back of Aidan's neck. "I hope you can, because I can't see over you," he chuckled.

"I can roll dough, you know," just kind of left Aidan's mouth in amusement. Until he realized that this had nothing to do with the dough. Dean was telling him something. The other hints had been questionable enough to always veer back to the safe zone of heterosexuality. Not so this time.

"Dean," he whispered—slightly huskily, though that was entirely unintentional—"If you don't want me to start thinking things, I'm going to give you five seconds to let me know." He intended to turn around in his embrace after those five seconds, and consequences be damned.

Dean cleared his throat, squeezed both of Aidan's hands gently, then released them, leaving floury hand prints behind.

"Think what you like," he responded, handing him a kitchen knife. "We cut the dough into one inch squares. Save it in a pile and we put it all in the water at one time."

"Yeah...sure." Aidan started cutting the squares. "How long do we put this on?"

"Twenty minutes or so... but before that I need to add some more ingredients to the water... chicken broth, the meat, veggies and seasonings....saffron..." Dean contemplated Aidan's face. "Aid? You look upset. Please, tell me what I did wrong. I'm trying so hard to say and do the right things," he said, eyes nearly misting over. "God, what did I say? Because whatever it was... it wasn't what I meant."

"It's nothing," Aidan gave a smile his best effort. "Just thought of something, that's all. Come on, don't look like that. It was nothing you said or did. Now, is there anything else I can help you with? I mean, I doubt this soup will be better if it's got two people stirring it."

Aidan definitely wasn't going to tell Dean, straight Dean, that the compliments and gestures had on more than one occasion made him consider Dean to be available. There was no surer way of alienating a friend than telling him you thought he wanted you. Aidan had just given him a window so obvious that no one could consider it to be anything else. Dean hadn't taken it. End of story.

"Richard and I are thinking of seeing ‘Mama Mia’ this weekend," he said. "Have you seen it?"

Dean couldn't speak. He just shook his head minutely and turned to the canned potatoes, attacking them with the can opener. 

"J-just finish cutting the dough," he managed after the first can was opened. He expeditiously added three cans of sliced potatoes and the saffron to the boiling water, along with some chicken stock. "You can add the dough whenever," he told Aidan, turning back to pulling chicken meat off the carcass.

"You didn't see it then?" Aidan wondered, because he didn't see why Dean seemed to avoid the answer. "I love musicals. Do you like them?" He looked over his shoulder at Dean, but oh, he'd definitely said something wrong, because his friend's frame was taut as a bowstring.

As soon as the squares of dough were all cut, Aidan put them next to Dean on the counter. "There you go. Add it to the soup?"

Dean turned to him with a cutting board full of loose chicken meat, which he scraped into the pot. 

"It's not soup. It's pot pie," he reminded Aidan. His normally bright blue eyes were the color of the sky before a storm. "And yes, add it anytime. Set the timer for twenty minutes. Could I use your bathroom?"

Aidan winced. "...I didn't clean it."

Dean suddenly smiled, face opening up like clouds parting to let the sun shine through. "Did you think you were inviting over a guy who doesn't pee?" He picked up a piece of chicken that missed the pot and ate it. "Because I'm not one of those guys. But, I could always go to the convenience store down the block..." he offered.

Aidan frowned. "Well, you can use it. Just, please don't look at the state of my laundry. And sink."

"I won't, promise," Dean raised his hand as if taking an oath. "If it makes you comfortable, you can blindfold me and guide me towards the toilet."

"That's a little awkward." Aidan leaned back against the counter and shook his head. "Go ahead. Sorry, I should have thought about that." Dean seemed to be feeling better again, which was why he didn't make a big deal out of it. The truth was, he did hate for Dean to see his messy bathroom. It made him feel slightly self-conscious about his cleaning habits.

"Thanks," Dean stood, awkwardly, waiting to be directed to the room. "Like an idiot I drank a super sized iced latte while I was shopping. It's not only filled my bladder, but I'm afraid it's made me a little tense. I'm sorry. I really wanted tonight to be... nice," his eyes spied a closed doorway across the living area. "Is that it?"

"Ah no," Aidan chuckled, ill at ease, "That's the meter cupboard. You'll want the one on the other side. I'll put the dough in the broth, okay?"

"You do that," Dean told him. "I'll find the bathroom." He left to go down the hall.

He returned a few moments later with a grin. "I've seen worse," he said of the bathroom, picking up the container of chicken stock and adding more to the mixture. "Smells pretty good, huh?"

Aidan grinned. "I tried a bit. Sorry. It did smell good."

He surrendered the spoon to Dean and moved to sit on the couch this time, pulling up his legs. "Do you miss the States?" he asked. "You're from New Zealand originally, right? I've been there on a holiday once. It's so different there."

"You know what I miss most about the States? People," he admitted. "That, and so many stores are open late or around the clock. There's not as much spontaneous food shopping to be done here," he smiled, adding some flour to the pot to thicken the gravy. 

"Truth be told, I haven't been back to Auckland in a long time. My family did visit me in the States a few times though." He looked at the food. "I hope you enjoy this as much as I do. It's one of the most delicious, sinful things I've ever eaten. But then, I don't have a very adventurous palate," Dean confessed.

"Sinful to you, but for the folks you took the recipe from?" Aidan wondered good-naturedly. "Well, I do look forward to having a proper bite, just to find out what counts as sinful in your books," he said in merry amusement.

"I doubt the Amish view this as sinful," Dean pondered. "It's kind of a staple of their diet. But, be warned. A carb coma will follow. If you have trouble sleeping tonight, I'll be really surprised."

He turned the burner down to the lowest setting and reached for the bottle of white wine he'd brought along. "Corkscrew?" he asked.

"Top drawer to the left." As swiftly as that, Aidan had removed his socks and sat barefoot, fully encouraging Dean to do the same. "Come over here," he said. "And good. I can't wait to finally get some proper sleep. That's been far too long."

Making himself more comfortable, he waited until Dean had joined him before he said, "When I was over there, we went to a McDonald's once. I always thought they were the same wherever you went. But everything was so greasy. Compared to that, I bet burgers taste really bland to you here."

"You couldn't pay me to eat at a McDonald's. I think the last thing I ate there was a kid's meal," he joked, handing a glass of wine to Aidan. "Aside from a couple pubs near my apartment, one deli and the restaurants you've taken me to, I haven't explored much. I eat at home a lot, sitting at my computer."

He finished his glass of wine in three gulps and poured himself another. 

Aidan watched it. "Well, aren't you thirsty," he noted drily. "I love McDonald's. Like I said, it's different everywhere. So you work at home a lot?"

"Nope. I work at work. I do spend a lot of time Skype-ing and chatting with friends in the States and my family," Dean explained. "Oh, and I play a couple of MMORPGs. It's very therapeutic."

"I did peg you for someone who works at home to get a promotion," Aidan said guiltily. He looked over at the kitchen when the food was cooking. He really couldn't wait to try it. Hardly anyone ever cooked for him, and those who did never brought wine. Nor downed it as fast.

Just at that moment, his phone rang. He frowned as he read who it was, pressed the call away and sent a message after.

"Family," Aidan explained apologetically. "It's... really complicated. I'll have to go for a bit later on. I'm sorry."

Dean looked more than a little crestfallen. "Family first," he affirmed, "of course. I mean, it's not like you want me here for hours and hours anyway, right?"

He looked down at his lap, fiddling idly with the cloth.

"I wouldn't have minded," Aidan shrugged anything but carelessly. "I have an Xbox..." By which he meant to say had hoped for it to turn into a late night.

"Well," Dean downed the dregs of his third generous glass of wine, "then I guess we just have to make the best of the time we have."

He put his glass down on the table next to the couch and slid a bit closer to Aidan. "Would it upset you if I told you that I really, really want to kiss you? That I've been thinking about it for some time?"

At first Aidan thought Dean was making fun of him. It rolled so easily off his lips, whereas he'd been so difficult about giving Aidan solid clues about whether he meant all those casual comments for real or whether they were just japes between friends. But Dean showed no signs of cracking a smile.

"Not...not upset," he heard himself say with care, still not trusting his ears, "But confused, yes. Don't you like women? I mean, why? Dean, I refuse to be an experiment..."

"Aidan," Dean said, almost inaudibly, "I told you a few weeks ago that I've had but a few very short and very unfulfilling relationships. And yes, they were with women. But I have never felt an attraction to anyone like I do to you."

Dean wasn't lying about this, which scared him. He'd really wanted to come to Dublin, do his job and go home. And yet, it was as if Aidan emitted some sort of magical chemical that Dean couldn't resist. Having to try was killing him.

"As far as being an experiment... isn't every first kiss an experiment?" he reached for the wine, then reconsidered. "I wish I could make you understand how often I think about you when you're not around. It's... well, it's embarrassing, really. I didn't come here to Dublin expecting to fall in love with one of the first people I met."

Aidan sat in stunned silence for a long time. Finally he breathed out the breath he didn't know he had been holding. "Well, you're finally making sense." It might have sounded like a callous remark, though it was really anything but that. "I mean, every time I gave you an opening, you backed away..."

And now Dean was telling him he was _in love with him?_ It was all a bit of a vertigo. But a good one, Aidan realized, for when the idea sank in, he couldn't help but feel a spike in his gut and an unbidden smile force itself forward on his lips. Dean was attractive; of course Aidan had thought of what it would be like. He was also a genuinely nice guy, who would never be careless about something like this.

Aidan shifted and sat up straight on the couch. "All right then," he smiled. "About time I found out how those lips really feel." Then he leaned slightly closer and closed his eyes.

Dean didn't know where to begin. He'd spent many an hour, usually as he was falling asleep at night, dreaming of this moment—where he would touch, how he would use his mouth. But now, with the moment actually upon him, he was terrified.

He slid close enough to Aidan that their thighs brushed. Aidan was so adorable and vulnerable, sitting there in blind anticipation, that Dean couldn't bear to keep him hanging.

_Goddammit, he could do this._

He reached out a tentative hand to cup the right side of Aidan's face, thumb ghosting over his high cheekbone. Dean slid his hand around, at last able to touch Aidan's surprisingly soft dark curls, tightening the fingers just a bit as he drew him towards him, pressing their lips together cautiously, then more firmly.

Dean literally felt a jolt of pleasure and gasped, opening his mouth ever so slightly, resulting in a relaxing of his features. He was kissing Aidan. 

Across town, having watched the entire exchange on a camera he'd planted in Aidan's apartment, Richard got up and angrily smacked the wall.


	5. Being Watched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first kiss leads to first... other stuff. Dean discovers that he and Aidan have a spectator. He also discovers something that makes him doubt Aidan.

Aidan couldn't care about anyone else watching them. If he knew Richard sat on the other side of town, watching the feed of his installed surveillance system, then perhaps he would have thought twice. But he didn't know. His system received a boost of adrenaline that he didn't know what to do with, other than lean further forward and dare a hand to rest on Dean's knee. For weeks he'd wondered—now, he could finally forget about those insecurities. He loved the certainty.

His lips never parted until minutes later. Aidan enjoyed the simple feel of skin against skin, moving in exploration as well as admiration as he committed it to memory. It tasted sweeter than he'd expected, and was more firm.

When he finally did try how it felt to run his tongue across those lips, he had to force himself to calm down. Because Aidan wanted Dean. He wanted him to crawl on top of him, claim him, and claim him perfectly. He was also sure that if he did, he chanced ruining something beautiful. "So?" he whispered quietly, "do I pass the test?"

"Yeah," Dean breathed, eyes searching Aidan's face. "God...yeah." He touched trembling fingers to his own lips. "I feel like I could float away."

Coming back to himself, he remembered the pot on the stove. "Are you hungry?" he asked the other man. "I could eat a horse."

"Not for food," Aidan grinned breathlessly. He pulled Dean in again. "And I hope you didn't just compare me to a horse." He leaned back, effectively tugging Dean slightly on top of him, but made sure not to push it as he sought out his lower lip, then his tongue. He could really do this all night.

"What I meant was," Dean murmured around Aidan's warm lips, "I should take the pot off the burner." He leaned forward and whispered into Aidan's ear, "Did you know that dough will literally melt away into floury, goopy soup if you let it keep cooking?" he closed his teeth just briefly over Aidan's earlobe before hopping up. "I'll be right back."

Ten seconds later, he returned. "Now, where were we?"

Aidan grinned and mercilessly pulled him on top of him this time. "You were demonstrating how badly you've wanted to kiss me lately." He attacked his mouth and dragged the other down until he lay flush on the couch with Dean above him. "Don't leave me hanging for food again."

He needed to be careful. If Aidan wasn't, he was going to have Dean tonight.

Dean was embarrassed at how this simple but oh so intimate contact affected his dick. But it did, and he wanted Aidan to know it. He slowly and deliberately slotted his knee between Aidan's legs and drew himself up so that his arousal was easily felt against the brunet's thigh.

"It's not the prospect of food making me feel this way," he assured him, and kissed him softly on his neck, then more passionately, nipping and licking a path down his shoulder, clumsily opening his top two shirt buttons for better access.

Unexpectedly, Aidan's shaking hands stilled them. "Not tonight," he whispered, though it pained him to say it. "Next time. Tonight I just want to kiss you." He wasn't going to push Dean into more, because he didn't know if he'd be able to stop himself if more happened. This was Dean's first kiss with a man, and one of the first Aidan couldn't afford to screw up by going too fast. He smiled up and laughed quietly. "I never expected this would really happen." He looped his arms around Dean and kissed him softly, but again his desire for him won out and soon had their tongues battling for conquest.

Dean obediently calmed his questing hands, instead opting to cradle Aidan's neck with one and solidly hold his flank with the other. "You feel wonderful," Dean told him when they paused for breath. "I knew you were going to.”

He allowed his entire weight to lower on top of Aidan, luxuriating in the relaxed feel of having that solid, warm body under his, nuzzling his nose into Aidan's neck and cheek. "Oh...wow," he lazily stroked along Aidan's side. "I could get used to this." 

Aidan bit his lip. "...If you're going to stay like that much longer, I don't know how you'll be able to stop me anymore. But please stay like this a while." He carded his hair through Dean's coarse hair. "You confused me, you know." Aidan closed his eyes. His body refused to be willed into submission, the only comfort being that Dean felt like he was equally lost as their hips pressed together. "Turns out, you're a natural." Aidan looked up at the ceiling with a grin. Then he pulled Dean back up and kissed him deeply again. "First guy kiss, right?"

"Well, first real one," Dean reminded him. "I was in a play back in college and one of my friends—a guy—tried to kiss me at the cast party. I was pretty drunk, but sober enough to know I didn't want him to kiss me," he put his hand over Aidan's heart. "It wasn't because he was a guy. It was because I didn't love him. I didn't even like him much."

"You, on the other hand," he whispered, "you I like a lot." Dean rose up on his elbows and met Aidan's gaze. "This isn't the wine talking. But it did give me the courage to finally let you know."

Aidan remembered the kitchen incident again, which had felt too much like a rejection. "Then I'm glad you brought it," he said. His breathing was still irregular, his chest rising and falling. "I've thought about you, but I always thought you wouldn't be interested. Do you have plans this weekend? I mean, I told Richard I'd go see a musical with him, but that's all that's planned, and I think I'll be thinking of this the whole time anyway."

"I have no plans, but if I did, I'd cancel them," Dean told him honestly. "I'm not saying you should cancel yours with Richard, of course," he quickly added. "I mean, I do need to get some laundry done. I haven't even finished unpacking yet." He looked at Aidan solemnly. "I don't want to be clingy. Ugh, god," he caressed the side of Aidan's face. "Promise me you stop me if I am."

"I promise." Aidan tugged Dean down and went for his collar this time, pressing lips against his jaw. "But other than that, I want to see you as much as I can. Fuck, aren't you even a little scared about this?"

"I'm terrified," Dean admitted. "Not of you, of course, Aidan. I was terrified to tell you how I felt. Terrified to kiss you. Terrified that I might be dreaming..." he paused. "Now I'm terrified that I don't deserve to be this lucky."

He slotted his lips over Aidan's again, eagerly exploring the brunet's mouth. "I am very, very lucky."

Aidan easily surrendered to the kiss once again. "Okay. Good," he managed to muffle in. It wouldn't be fair otherwise. Aidan had spent too long being too insecure. 

When they finally unlatched and checked the time, twenty-five minutes had passed in the blink of an eye. Aidan grinned. "And you cooked for me. You're perfect."

"Cooked for _us_ ," Dean corrected him. "I'm famished. What time do you have to leave?" he asked, remembering the earlier phone call.

Aidan shrugged. "Somewhere later. It's just it has to be tonight, and I can't let it wait too long. If you want, you can stay here while I'm off. It'll only take about fifteen minutes. Just need to drop something off, and I'll be back." He sat up and nodded to the kitchen. "The uh, the plates are in the right top drawer." It was his way of asking if Dean wanted to indulge him and bring him food.

"I'll be right back," Dean rose and headed for the kitchen, smiling.

_He wants me to be here when he gets back,_ he beamed. "And yes, if it doesn't make you too uncomfortable having me in your apartment," Dean told him as he scooped pot pie onto two plates. "I'll wait for you." With a flourish, he handed Aidan a plate of golden dough and chicken with a fork stuck in it, then sat down with his own, waiting for Aidan to take the first bite.

"Not at all," Aidan smiled with an equally ridiculous grin. "I trust you won't go searching for the dead body in my bedroom wall." It was a joke, obviously, though Aidan did have some things to hide—he was simply confident that first of all, Dean wouldn't go looking, and second, he'd kept the important stuff behind proper security, so Dean would never get there. He dug his fork in, blew to cool the first bite down a little, and took a bite.

Almost immediately he burned his mouth.

"Shit. That's fucking hot!"

"Aid!" Dean reached for Aidan's wine glass and handed it over. "Yeah, I guess it is...sorry," he winced. "You all right?"

He put a concerned hand on Aidan's thigh and studied his face.

Aidan peeked up at him. The endeared amusement spread further and further. "You're a sweetheart." He pecked Dean on the lips. "Of course I am. I should have blown on it more. My fault, sorry."

He did so now. When he tried again, it was much better. And it tasted good. It also tasted like three spoonfuls of this was going to make him the fattest guy in Dublin, but for now he didn't care. "You're going to make this for me again. Very soon."

"The good news is," Dean replied, "I made enough to last you a week. Lunches and stuff," he clarified, finally taking his first bite.

The taste of saffron and chicken gravy exploded on his tongue, the soft pillowy dough and grainy potato playing counterpoint to the tender chicken. He moaned in pleasure and lay his head back. "God, how I've missed this." He dug into the meal.

"I bet you have," a fork pointed his direction. "Just so you know, I plan on having you make that sound again very soon."

Dean let a small, involuntary whimper. "You should _not_ say things like that, Aidan," he said softly, hand trembling as he set his fork down on the edge of his plate.

Aidan looked down. "Well, as soon as you're ready, of course. And I'm fine if that takes longer than very soon." He looked up through his curls and squeezed Dean's knee. Then he started properly eating. "Did you really get to learn this from the Amish? Aren't they usually very closed off?"

"They can be closed off, but it's in plenty of cookbooks," Dean grinned. "However, I did talk to an Amish lady running a stand at a farm market about how to make the best dough. Once she started talking there was no shutting her up." He got up. "Mind if I have seconds?"

"It's your food," Aidan nodded. "I don't... really have a lot of recipes on my own. I mean, I make a mean omelet, but that's it." He was dying to finish his meal and continue what he was really hungry for. But if he made haste now, he could be back from his errand soon and they would have all night. Or last until Dean went home. Which, Aidan hoped, would be somewhere in the morning. Or not at all.

"Omelets. Breakfast food," Dean smiled. "Are you inviting me to sleep over?" He got up and served himself a modest portion, and still finished it before Aidan finished his first. "Guess I was hungrier than I thought," he admitted, looking around Aidan's place.

"You have a lot of books," he observed. "Could I maybe read one while you're gone?"

As his eyes scanned the bookshelf and the framed photos on it, they fell upon something odd. It was at a distance, but the tiny item that would go unnoticed by most, looked for all the world like a small camera—a camera that would be perfect for spying on Aidan in his home. He made a mental note to examine it right after Aidan left. And to sweep the house for others, no doubt planted by Richard at some point in the past five weeks.

No wonder Aidan felt like someone was watching him sleep. And now, no doubt, Richard had been watching them make out. Dean seethed inwardly.

"If you want to," Aidan interrupted his thoughts. He smiled awkwardly. "I mean, I want you to, but like I said, when you're ready. Not that we, um, have to do anything of the sort. But we could. If you want to."

He finally finished his first round and didn't go for seconds, stuffed already. "Sure. Read through them. What kinds of books do you like?" Aidan canted his head. "You're the info books kinds of guy, aren't you?"

"Biographies, juicy ones, particularly autobiographies. True Crime... but not mystery," he specified. "I also like a well-written horror story," he confessed. "But, to be honest, I'm just curious what you have on your bookshelf. So many people are getting rid of their books these days in favor of Kindles. I love the feel of a book in my hands."

He got up and took Aidan's empty plate, carrying both to the kitchen. "I'll wash the dishes and put stuff away while you're gone."

The _hurry back_ was unspoken, but certainly implied.

"You're my guest, Aidan pouted. "Leave them on the counter until I get back." He was reluctant to pick up his coat and get out of the door, though Dean seemed to be pushing him that way, so eventually be got up. "If you need anything, just call me," he said. "I promise you I won't be long." Aidan paused. Then he said, quieter, "Please don't be gone when I get back."

"Hey," Dean walked to where Aidan was standing, "I promise. I'll be here." He drew Aidan into his arms and hugged him. "I promise. Do what you have to do, Aid."

"Right." Aidan kissed him again. After what felt like minutes, he pulled away and took a step back. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Then he was gone, his keys dangling in his pockets as he made his way down the building, across the street, several blocks down, where he picked up a small bit of cargo from a locker and finally knocked a man's door.

"...God, you look awful," Aidan whispered as soon as it opened.

\- - - - -

As soon as Aidan left the apartment and Dean heard his footsteps head off down the hall, the blond turned to the bookshelf. His fears were confirmed when he found a tiny camera with sound capability down in the corner of a picture frame.

He wondered how many more he might find. Before plucking the offending item away and putting it in his pocket, he gave the finger to whoever might be watching.

"Leave him alone," he told the camera. "You know as well as I do he's not a criminal."

Dean found a camera in the kitchen, above the range hood, and another stuck above the door frame in Aidan's tiny office. The one that angered him most was the one he found in Aidan's bedroom, pointed directly as his bed from where it was hidden inside a vent.

"We'll be in this bed, together, soon," he gloated to the camera, "but you won't be watching, _douchebag_." He shoved that camera into his pocket with the others.

Thankfully, he found no camera in either bathroom. In fact, in his exploration, he'd found nothing else untoward. As he walked back to the kitchen to take care of the dishes, his eyes settled on the door to what Aidan had called the meter closet. Upon opening it, he found that it was just that.

Reaching in, Dean knocked on the walls as he had done in Aidan's other closets. This time, the back wall had a bit of a hollow sound to it. Carefully he climbed inside the closet to investigate and found that a portion of the wall could be removed, although that had been cleverly disguised behind equipment. Knowing he didn't have much time, he slid out the piece of particle board. 

Dean didn't want to believe what he was seeing. The light in the living room was bright enough to reveal beakers, burners, scales and other equipment, as well as a few boxes. He picked up a small, light one and opened it. Inside, were about 50 very small Ziploc bags full of a pale powdery substance. 

"No," he voiced his denial. "Aidan, no." There had to be another explanation. There _had_ to be!

Dean took one of the small bags and slid it into the pocket holding the cameras. He'd have to have that stuff analyzed—immediately. 

He put everything back into the crawlspace exactly as he'd found it, trying desperately to maintain his composure. Aidan was making drugs. All the intel was correct. Dean had been blind to it. Blind because he didn't want to see.

He pulled out his cell phone with shaking hands, dialing Adam's desk.

"Can you give me the address of the closest safe lab? I found some substance we need to identify," he told his friend, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

"Is this..." Adam sounded surprised and well pleased. "Do you think he's the one, Dean? Are you coming home soon?" He typed in some coordinates. "Right. Let's see. I'm sending you a map with all the safe houses around your apartment... right now. There you go. Shall I contact any of them to prepare for you coming over?"

"I..." Dean bit his lip. "I can't go right away," he answered evasively. "What I've found doesn't necessarily point to anything." And it didn't. It was way too small scale to match the magnitude of the Milk problem plaguing industrialized nations. 

"I'll have to go in the morning," he concluded. "I'm in the middle of something here. Thanks for the information, Adam. I miss you guys," he added prior to hanging up.

\- - - - -

Richard had been ready to call it a night when he grew tired of Aidan and Dean making out in grainy black and white. But then Aidan had to leave, and Richard decided to follow him.

Aidan was travelling on foot, so Richard followed at an inconspicuous distance, as Aidan stopped at a locker at the station, the location of which he made note of, and then a run-down brownstone town house. A man with dark hair, a little younger than Richard opened the door. He looked ill. Then Richard realized... he was jonesing. Aidan was about to give this guy some drugs.

Richard, of course, had his own doubts about Aidan's involvement with Milk. He felt an odd pang of regret as he watched the pair.

It was hard to make out what they were saying. The man inside seemed agitated, for he moved jerkily, overreacted at the slightest stimulation. Aidan handed him a small metal tube and pressed the man's hands shut around it. He was given five empty tubes in return, which he pocketed covertly. He stepped back with difficulty.

The door closed with a bang and Aidan walked back the same route, deposited the empty tubes in the locker, before he made easy for his apartment. He knocked once before opening and immediately searched out Dean. Aidan's haggard expression turned into a comforted one. "Hey," he breathed out. "What did you read?"

"I ended up doing the dishes after all," Dean told him, from his position behind the counter. "You have enough leftover pot pie for five people. I might have to take some home with me, if that's all right," he added. He studied Aidan's face as he dried his hands on a dish-towel. "Everything go okay? You look a little upset."

"You made it," Aidan said. "Of course." He dropped his coat on the couch and fell down on it after. "It's a bit of a difficult situation. If it wasn't, I would have just told them to wait for tomorrow. Maybe I'll tell you about it some day, but it's a delicate matter, so I hope you accept me not wanting to talk about it now. You really shouldn't have done the dishes, you know. But thanks." They helped lift the heaviness that had befallen Aidan. "You're a lifesaver. A hot one," he added with a chuckle.

During the time before Aidan had returned, Dean has slipped the confiscated cameras and the bag of—he refused to call it drugs—stuff into his coat pocket and zipped it up. Aidan looked so genuinely concerned about whomever he'd just visited. Surely it wasn't a dealer or supplier. Aidan was simply _not_ that guy, Dean concluded. 

"I have always wanted to read the 'Song of Ice and Fire' series. I mean, if you'd ever be willing to loan them out," he added, remembering having seen the series on the shelf. He moved to the sofa and sat down next to Aidan, pushing a stray curl away from where it had fallen over his forehead. It stubbornly fell back down, and Dean chuckled, kissing him softly on the cheek.

"Sure. You can take it."

Aidan's words were quiet. Just like that, they were back to kissing; it didn't last very long before Aidan sat up on his knees and cupped Dean's chin with both hands. "You're amazing," he whispered. "Tell me how far you want me to take this tonight and I will stop when we get there, but know that I want you so much right now."

"Truth be told, I just don't know," Dean answered honestly. "I know I care for you and that I want you. But I'm not a hundred percent sure what 'wanting you' entails. I want more," he clarified. "But I like you, Aidan, I really, honestly do. And I don't want to screw up anything we might have with just leaping into sex. Especially because I'm not so sure how good I'm going to be at taking care of you."

From beneath curls, fond eyes watched him. "I don't care how good you are, Dean. I don't expect skill for your first time with a man, just that you want it and you're ready for it. You want me to just kiss you? I can do that. You can sleep in my bed of you're tired and if you want me to, I'll sleep on the couch."

A finger traced Dean's cheek down to his lips. "But if you have mercy, you’ll set a limit now while it's still possible for me to hold myself back."

Aidan's words made Dean feel like crying.

Tomorrow he might find out that the man he'd fallen in love with—real love, for the first time in his thirty years—might be the man responsible for countless deaths and addictions. But for tonight, he was Aidan. Impossibly adorable Aidan who finally, against all odds and despite of Dean's ineptitude, wanted him.

He took Aidan's face in both hands to be sure he understood. "No limits. Just... nothing painful, okay? No whips, chains or body modification." He smiled. 

Aidan laughed. "Silly. Never that. I mean to show you how much I like you, not the other way around." If he'd known what Dean had found out, he might act differently. For now, all he wanted was more of this man. With as much patience as he could muster up, he sat back and took off his own shirt. "Are you okay with this?" he asked, like he would ask about more things as they progressed. And Dean's answer would always be the permission necessary to continue. Aidan looked up at Dean.

He hadn't intended for this to follow up on their first kiss so soon, but he wanted it so badly.

Dean's eye hungrily took in the exposed flesh of Aidan's torso and he began unbuttoning his own shirt. It fell away to expose light, freckled skin, chest sprinkled with golden hair. He kicked out of his sneakers with a shy smile.

Without a shirt, the cling of the jeans Aidan had chosen was even more obvious—as was Dean's hard-on.

"It seems to be a permanent affliction, when you're around," Dean told him, rubbing it suggestively with one hand.

Aidan eyed it hungrily. "Can I?" he asked, longing to reach out and touch his fingers where Dean's hand was. Before he was given a response however, he had already leaned forward and started smattering tiny kisses along his jaw. Dean was gorgeous, even more so than he'd imagined. Soon, Aidan couldn't resist him any longer and pushed him back on the couch, crawling over him until he straddled him. He couldn't imagine Dean anything other than both excited and terrified, and paid close attention to never crossing a line. But within his boundaries he did everything he could to drive this man insane. 

Lips closed around a nipple.

Dean let out a gasp of pleasure. "Yes," he groaned, humping up against Aidan chasing after much-needed friction. "Please touch me, Aid." He buried a hand in Aidan's curls and slowly lifted his face to lock eyes with him. "Whatever you want."

Aidan stared up at him with amusement. "You are _fast_!" he let out. "Aren't you the least bit anxious to take it slow?" He felt like he was going far too fast, himself. Yet it was impossible to deny Dean anything if he asked it so gorgeously, and so Aidan's hand started worrying the belt, waiting for a sign that told him to stop it.

The sign never came.

When there were no more reasons not to do this, Aidan swallowed. "I am a bit nervous," he admitted, even if Dean didn't look to be the same. Tentatively, his hand pushed between fabric and hot skin.

"Aidan," Dean said quietly. "I trust you." And he did. He wanted Aidan to know that. Despite what the results of a lab test might confirm, he still trusted Aidan. It made him feel a little sick to his stomach, imagining Aidan in jail, so he pushed the mental picture away. It wasn't hard to do, not with Aidan's warm hand slithering into his impossibly tight trendy jeans. Dean undid his own belt do give Aidan better access.

As soon as enough space became available, the other wrapped his hand around Dean's cock, and sighed out contentedly. "All right then. Tell me when the couch becomes uncomfortable," which it always did; it wasn't a very expensive or comfortable one, "and we'll move this somewhere else."

Aidan's mind reeled. He wanted to fully undress this man and see him. It was almost easy to forget that he hadn't done this before, so eager was Dean. Aidan made sure to set a slow pace and at the same time kissed him hard, his free hand guiding Dean's to his own hips.

Dean moaned softly into Aidan's mouth, both hands slipping around to cup Aidan's behind. Dean pulled away from the kiss and smiled. "You're going to laugh, but I have been dying to find out what your ass feels like," he confessed, kneading the firm flesh, a quizzical look on his face. "But I think it's probably something I'm going to need to actually see at some point."

He returned to kissing Aidan, arousal spiking as the brunet changed the pace of his stroking.

"Pleased?" Aidan pushed Dean's hands further down before finally freeing the arousal of the man under him of its confines. Deft hands made quick work of the jeans on Dean's hips until they were at his knees, and Aidan took in a sharp breath at the sight of him, flushed and leaking. He couldn't hold back. Within seconds, he had taken Dean's cock in his mouth and was coating it generously, all the while pressing his tongue in flat laps against the veined surface. 

"Fucking hell," he moaned at the taste, and scrambled to push off his own jeans as well, revealing tight black boxers that came off just as fast.

Dean knew he should be doing _something_ with his hands—his mouth—to be making Aidan feel good, but he was so focused on the wet, slick heat of Aidan's mouth he felt powerless to do anything but take. God, Aidan was so _good_ at this.

He was embarrassed at how quickly he came, crying out Aidan's name and gently grasping his curls with one hand. He could only moan out "Aidan," and tenderly pet those curls as his breathing and heart rated went back to normal. "That was... you... you're very good at that."

But Aidan buried his head against Dean's chest and groaned, obviously displeased with himself. "I'm sorry," he breathed. "I should have stopped." When he looked up, his eyes betrayed his frustration with himself. "I wanted—"

Aidan had wanted to let this last for hours. He had planned not to let Dean go until they were both too tired to sit up. His own enthusiasm had put an early stopper on that.

"It was my fault," Dean took the blame. "I haven't—you know—in awhile," he admitted. "I'm surprised I lasted that long." He chuckled a bit, then looked back down into Aidan's sad face. "Please, don't you dare be sad," he insisted, squeezing him. "It was incredible. It's not we can't do it again, right? Right?"

On top of him nuzzled Aidan, his fingers drawing circles on Dean's chest. "Definitely. Besides, you still need to try my omelet, so if you want, you can still stay over. And if you do, well, the night is young, right?"

"I'd love to stay over," Dean told him, in all sincerity. "In fact, there is nowhere else I'd rather be. You need to talk me through making you feel as good as you just made me feel. I mean, I know what I like, and I think I'd like to do it to you, _with_ you," he clarified. "Do you just want me to dive in and see what happens?"

Dean's face was pink. "I'd like to go to your bed, though. You were right. This couch isn't terribly comfortable."

Aidan pulled his legs up, still very much naked, and ignored the faux leather of the couch sticking to his skin. He chewed on the nail of his thumb, a grin slipping in. "I think I like you to just dive in and see where it takes us. Whenever you need, I can still talk you through it. Don't worry about that." He smiled. "We'll be fine."

Getting up, he walked to a door at the other end of the room and leaned against it. "First off—I didn't clean this up either. So bear with me." Then he opened the room to a heap of clothes strewn about, and a black wooden bed in the middle of it.

Dean smiled, he hoped not sadly, as Aidan led him down the hallway.

"I don't mind, Aidan. I told you that already," Dean reminded him, running a comforting hand down his chest. "I only have eyes for you," he said, as his blue orbs tracked town Aidan's chest to his erection. Dean raised his eyes to Aidan. "I'm ready for an up-close look."

"Oh, are you now?" Aidan said for the sake of speaking. His voice had dropped to a whisper and his eyes were half shut, looking at Dean like both prey and the predator. He edged into the room without looking away and lay down like a panther reclining. His hands pushed the sheets away to the floor, and then Aidan was biting his lip, tempting Dean to join him. There was not a fiber in his body that did not want this. Sure, it was fast, maybe too fast, but it felt right.

"I'm here, Dean."

For a moment, Dean just stood, looking down at him with desire. How could Aidan trust him so easily? Simple. Aidan had no idea who or what Dean was. Dean felt ashamed, dirty. He didn't want to come to Aidan like this—as a liar and a fraud.

But it wasn't that fake persona who loved Aidan. It was Dean. _Real_ Dean. 

"God, you're lovely," he concluded, crawling in next to him. 

As soon as he did, Aidan was on him. He rolled easily on top of him, chuckled, and kissed him thoroughly. His cock insisted on attention against Dean's thigh, and Aidan did whatever he could to make Dean notice it.

It was impossible for Dean not to notice Aidan's dick. He both feared and wanted it. Aside from changing a diaper or two, he'd never touched another penis—especially not one of a grown man—except his own. 

"Hey now," he chuckled, "roll back over and let me get a look at you, okay?" He flipped Aidan back over gently but firmly, betraying only the slightest bit of his martial arts training. After that, he slid down Aidan's side until he was eye level with the younger man's groin.

Aidan's crotch was very different from his own. A thick thatch of ebony curls nearly hid his testicles, yet those were what Dean was less nervous about touching for some reason. He slid a hand up Aidan's thigh and gently took Aidan's balls into his palm. Because of Aidan's arousal, they were drawn up high. He looked forward to looking at and feeling them when Aidan wasn't turned on as well.

Aidan's cock was longer than his, but more slender and darker. He was sure some of that bruisy darkness had to do with being filled with blood. Slowly, he brought his other hand around to wrap around the organ. It was hot, and much silkier than he expected.

Under him, Aidan lay with lidded eyes, drawing tiny breaths because somehow taking regular breaths wouldn't come from him. His system was wrecked with probably more nervousness than Dean himself. As soon as the hand reached his arousal, the breathing jammed in his throat for several long fragments of a second. Then Aidan let his head fall back and closed his eyes. "God, yes," he gasped. "Tell me how you touch yourself when you're alone."

Dean couldn't hide the involuntary gasp that came from him at Aidan's request. 

"I," he began, then cleared the huskiness away, "I lay on my back... just like you are right now, with a pillow under my head. "I use my right hand. I'm right handed," he told Aidan, redundantly, nervously.

"Like this," he slid a bit up Aidan's body so his hand got he proper angle, his thumb sliding into the crease underneath Aidan's cock head with each stroke. "Just like this," he breathed. 

Little was Dean aware that by asking him this, Aidan tried to make him see the comparison. Aidan's body was no different from his, and while he perhaps liked different approaches, he was bound to respond to Dean touching him the way he would touch himself.

"Just a little tighter," he whispered. "That's how I do it." But Dean's hands were firm, firmer than expected, and already tension was building up in Aidan's loins. Soon he stopped talking and responded by pushing his hips urgently up against the fist.

"But the touching often isn't nearly as critical as what I think about," Dean said softly. "And lately, all I can think about is _you_ ," he confessed, speeding up a bit. "What your mouth feels like, your hands, how you smell, the sound of your voice and how you throw back your head when you laugh."

He kept going, other hand venturing back down to cup Aidan's balls.

When Aidan opened his eyes and stared up at him with parted lips, his pupils were blown. How had this man come from slightly too much to not nearly enough, no matter what he did? Aidan parted his legs slightly in order to gain more purchase on the bed. He longed to be the one in control. Here, on his bed, he had nowhere to go—nowhere he'd rather be. "Just," he gasped, "just a little more. Oh god. Oh fucking god."

"I thought you were hot before," Dean told him. "But now, you're on fire." He took the final step and lowered his mouth over the tip of Aidan's cock, just enough to engulf it and taste the precum there. He dug in with his tongue and licked the bundle of nerves beneath the crown.

Completely unexpected as this move was to a man on the brink of losing it, his eyes screwed shut once again, Aidan jolted and let out a loud, wanton gasp. That was followed by hands gripping Dean's hair and bucking up into the hot wet of his mouth.

Aidan lasted ridiculously short after that. He grabbed blindly for his pillow, clutched it where it lay left of him as his body moved up and down with the rhythm of his hips, and suddenly he twisted to push his face into it, biting at the fabric. At the same time, hot seed filled Dean's mouth from Aidan's jerking hips.

Dean hadn't come to Aidan's expecting to swallow semen. But he should have known it was a possibility when he decided to put Aidan's cock in his mouth. It was more than he expected, but the taste wasn't too unlike his own to be honest—yes, he'd tasted it. What red blooded male hadn't?

He didn't hesitate to swallow, albeit messily.

He enjoyed the feeling of Aidan softening in his mouth and rode out the undulations of his hips as if he'd been doing it for years.

He crawled up next to Aidan and kissed his friend's sweaty cheek. "Now, _that_ was an adventure."

Sticky from sweat, Aidan kissed him flush on the lips, the first chance he got. He looked happy and sated. "You swallowed," he grinned, "I mean, wow. You really shouldn't have but, god, wow. Can I just tell you how amazing you are? You cook for me, and then you wait for me, and then I come back and... _this_. Not to mention you have the hottest ass on the planet and you're still not covering it up. Please tell me you sleep naked and still want me to make you your breakfast."

"I don't at home," Dean smiled. "But for you I will. And, hell yes, I want breakfast. You promised me an omelet, if memory serves."

Dean lay his head on Aidan's right shoulder and wrapped his arm around him, intertwining their ankles. 

"Mmmm," he sighed in contentment, while, unbidden, tears came to his eyes. _Stop it,_ he told himself, blinking them away. _He's going to be cleared. It can't be Milk in that plastic bag._

But if it wasn't Milk, then what was it?

Finally Aidan noticed. He quietly brushed the wetness away and kissed him gently on his cheeks. "I'll make you the best omelet ever, as long as you tell me those are happy tears. I didn't push you too fast, did I?"

"I'm very happy," Dean assured him. "This is one of those moments I wish I could bottle and keep forever," he insisted. "I guess I'm just a Hallmark moment kinda guy."

"You're funny," Aidan kissed him, still surprised at the ease with which they moved around each other. There was practically no need for conformations. "How about we make more memories like these?" That was his way of asking for a second time soon, and a third; maybe a date, then commitment. Because Aidan wanted to. This was the first guy in a long while that he felt he could try for something meaningful with.

\- - - - - 

Dean had missed a camera in his haste to de-bug Aidan's apartment. Handily, it was in a fake plant, pointed directly at Aidan's bed. Richard watched their naked tryst with a mixture of scorn and desire.

Well, there was no question _now_ that Dean was into guys. Into Aidan at least. Richard knew he's lost that battle. He'd have to take a new approach. A more aggressive one. And neither Dean or Aidan was going to like his tactics very much.

He formulated his plan as he watched, enthralled as Dean rolled on top of Aidan and kissed him. 

_Nice ass,_ Richard pondered. _Shame I'll have to kick it._


	6. Cousin Lando

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan's cousin is threatened by a mysterious man asking questions about Aidan.

\- - - - - 

Dean knew he had to get that sample to a safe lab as soon as possible to have it identified. He snuck out of bed and wrote a brief note to Aidan

He nearly put "love" before his name, but wasn't sure that was wise—despite his feelings. Dean pulled on his clothing, checked his coat pocket for the sample, and left.

Adam had assumed Dean to take his own apartment as the starting position and had logically marked the labs closest from there with red. As it happened, they were the furthest away from his current location. It took Dean twenty minutes to get there—twenty minutes in which Aidan woke up, saw the other side of his bed empty, and miserably fell back down to bury his face in the pillow.

"Hello?" a confused man looked him over from the intercom when he rang the bell. Then something seemed to dawned on him. "Oh! Hold on! What did you say your name was again?"

"O'Gorman, Dean. Agent X954BN2. Codename: Halcyon."

The door opened at once.

The reception hall that received him was empty and white. For a downtown facility, it looked a lot like a building from the future. Pale blue and colorless led lighting circled the floor and the walls could have been made of a hard plastic.

Before Dean knew it, a man Dean’s height with light brown hair stood in front of him, meaning to shake his hand. "Agent O'Gorman. Agent Brown said you might be coming. He said that if you did, it would be urgent, so let's not waste time. How can I help you?"

Dean reached for the man's hand and shook it. "I'm here in Dublin investigating a possible Milk manufacturer. A person the agency thinks might be responsible for the epidemic. I found this at his home last night," Dean produced the small baggie of powder from his pocket. "Can you tell me what it is?"

The man looked him over with amusement. "Adam didn't tell you my name, did he? Call me Martin." He took the bag, gave it a good look and shook it as if he could see what it was from the powder's grain alone. It looked like he didn't see anything conclusive, so he turned and walked into the lab. "Follow me. Now, this might take some time. Interested in a coffee while we wait?" Martin looked up. "I suppose you can't tell me about the man you've got this from, right? Since that's probably classified."

"Well, Martin," Dean addressed the technician, "I can tell you that I find him to be a very unlikely suspect. But it's difficult to argue with hard evidence. I'm eager to see what you make of it."

Dean walked to the coffee pot and poured his own. His stomach, sour with worry, only burned more after drinking it. "Would it better if I came back later?" he wondered.

"It's only half an hour or so," Martin shrugged. "If it's that important, I'd stick around. I've got magazines while you wait. But hey, if you're short on time or you've got someplace to be, I can always e-mail you the results."

"No," Dean changed his mind. "I want to know. I _need_ to know. I'll stay," he said, sitting down in an armchair, trying to find an activity on his cell phone to take his mind off the fact that he might have to slap handcuffs on Aidan and take him in later.

\- - - - - 

Aidan's cell phone buzzed to life.

Still upset, Aidan blinked at his phone. It was in the back pocket of his jeans, still in the living room. It took him a fair amount of willpower to get up and drag himself there. Then he thought that maybe it was Dean and he had an explanation, and his feet walked a little faster.

"Hello?"

"Aidan, hey, it's Richard," Richard's voice came through the speaker. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

Aidan looked at the clock. Noon. Exactly—as if Richard had purposely waited until exactly twelve o'clock to call him.

"You there, Aid?"

"Richard." Aidan forced a smile. He was still slightly distracted, especially so when his gaze fell on a piece of paper he hadn't put there. His feet moved him to the kitchen table as he spoke. "How are you? Did you book the tickets?"

Richard thought Aidan sounded disappointed. Why shouldn't he?

"Yes, I did. That's why I'm calling. It's a Sunday matinee. 2 p.m. That work for you?" Richard asked.

Meanwhile, Aidan picked up the note Dean had left and read it.

**I have an appointment this morning, but would like to come back. You promised me an omelet. Text me? – Dean**  
**P.S. Last night made me very, very happy.**

"Aidan?" Richard tried again. Clearly the young man was distracted.

"Rich. Right, right! Sorry!" Aidan grinned broadly around his words now. He carefully put the piece of paper down and allowed himself to fall back on the couch. Thank goodness. No backing out. "Yeah, two is just fine. I think I might have something to tell you. But I think I'll need to get used to the thought myself first, so tomorrow, right? I'm really looking forward to it."

"I am too, Aidan," Richard's words were laden with meaning. "Maybe I could buy you dinner after? I mean, if you're up for it."

Aidan didn't see the harm in that. "Sure," he nodded to nobody in particular. "Hey, I'm really sorry about this, but I have to go. Is it okay if I call you back later?"

He didn't have to go at all; he simply needed to hear from Dean.

"All right then...it's at the Abbey Theater. How about we meet out front of it at 1:45?" Richard knew what Aidan's dismissal implied, even if he hadn't witnessed their antics.

"I'll be there!" With that, Aidan ended the phone call and immediately texted Dean. His fingers itched to just call him, but with appointments he never knew what was allowed and what was not.

_Got your note. What time can you make it back? x Aidan_

_Soon. Can I bring back anything for you?_ was Dean's reply.

 _I've got your leftovers,_ Aidan typed back with his tongue peeking out. _Hurry back, I can't wait to see you again._ He didn't care if he was potentially too close for comfort. He wanted to see Dean. He wanted to relish in his company and enjoy watching him move around.

 _Pot Pie...okay_ Dean responded. _So, more wine. See you before 3._

Dean got up and paced, even though he knew Martin was working as fast as he could.

Meanwhile, Martin was getting the first results back from the computer. He monitored several profiles, matched them against each other, and leaned back. As soon as his chair spun around, he wore a victorious grin.

"Looks like we found our man, Agent O'Gorman. A perfect match." He triumphantly put the papers down and pressed his index finger to a series of peaks—the signature.

Of all the news Dean could have possibly gotten, this was the last thing he expected he expected—and the worst.

"It's Milk? You're one hundred percent certain it's Milk?" he felt the need to sit down, swiping a hand over his face to hide his concern from Martin.

"One hundred percent." 

Martin's smile fell when the response he got was different than expected. "You don't seem happy with that."

"It's just...I'm...," Dean felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room. "Can I have the rest of it back? I'll need it when I confront him." He got up. "Thanks for being able to do this so quickly, Martin," he reached for his hand and shook it. 

Martin's hand moved automatically, his face writ with confusion. "Confront him?" he asked. "You've got the proof. I'd say take him in. Why take that risk?"

The idea of Aidan in handcuffs, being questioned, manhandled, suddenly flashed before Dean's eyes. He just couldn't bear it.

"I think there's more to this," Dean shrugged. "I think he's a pawn. He could very well be set up, or could lead us to someone higher up. It's too soon to just pick up my toys and go home, Martin."

Martin shook his head with curiosity. "Well, all right. I'll have to report this back, you know. But if you need my help again, just give me a call or have Adam contact me." He walked to the door, punched in a security code that consisted of over twenty digits, and opened the door. "Good luck," Martin said. "Take care."

Dean knew he could be making a huge mistake, but he decided it was worth the risk. "Could you maybe wait a few days before filing that report, Martin? I'm afraid the agency might pull me out or reassign me...and I want to see this through. I'd owe you one. A really big one," he implored. Dean locked eyes with Martin. "Dean...." Martin began. "Adam wouldn't like it if we...." " _Adam_ would ignore this if I asked him to. He trusts my judgment. You know as well as I do that the wrong report at the wrong time lets the wrong guys walk. Anyhow, it was worth a shot. I know what my job is. I'm going to do it."

He smiled sadly and raised a hand in parting as he left the apartment.

 _How am I going to face him?_ Dean sighed, eyes on the sidewalk. _What am I going to say?_

\- - - - - 

Meanwhile, Richard was knocking on the door of the townhouse Aidan had visited the evening before. According to records, the tenant was a man named Orlando Bloom.

Nobody answered at first. Only after insistent knocking did a man with hollow dark eyes and a frame too skinny to be healthy open the door. "—'you want?" he took one good look at the properly groomed man in front of him, so unlike himself, and scowled.

"My friend," Richard began, placing his foot in the door so the man couldn't shut it, "you don't look so good. I work with Aidan Turner. Can I come in?"

Orlando tried to close the door nonetheless at the mention of the name. He insistently jammed the door against Richard's foot, before scrambling inside wide-eyed and returning with something that looked like a solid baseball bat, and a temper to boot. "How did you get this address?" he spat. "What do you want?"

"Listen up," Richard raised his hands to show he had no weapon. "I'm not here to fight you or arrest you. Aidan is my friend. We work together. I have it on good authority he's in trouble. He's being investigated for supplying drugs. In particular, Milk." 

Orlando's eyes grew wide.

"By the look on your face and your shaking hands, I can see you are familiar with that particular drug," Richard said as gently as he could. "I followed him here last night. I don't want him to get in trouble. I like him. More than a little, if you must know," he added. "Can you explain to me why he was here and what he brought you?"

"You're a cop," Orlando realized with another brief look-over. "You're tailing him. He didn't bring me anything like that. I—" he tried to come up with something fast, "—I ran out of money for food, so he brought me some. Which I bought food with. Which I ate. Get the fuck out of my place," the bat scraped over the floor, "or I can't promise I won't beat the shit out of you."

"I'm not a cop," Richard reached slowly into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, showing his ChemTrex I.D. card to Orlando. "I work with Aidan. We're friends. I don't want to see him get in trouble. But I need to know the truth. I haven't confronted him about this because I guess I just don't want what every one believes about him to be true. So, is it?"

" _What everyone believes_." Orlando snorted. "Leave him alone. He's a great guy."

" _I_ know that," Richard told him. "He's wonderful. To tell the truth, I've been trying to get him to go out with me since I started working with him, so you can imagine how horrible it makes me feel to know he might be..." he paused. "Well, there's no proof either way. But if you can shed some light on things, I'd appreciate it."

Orlando pulled an expression of distaste. "Okay, he's a nice guy, but spare me the details, please. I really don't want to know about his mating rituals, or whatever. He's not a dealer, if that's what you think. He's harmless. That's all I can say."

"I appreciate your candor. But I'm going to need more." Richard crossed his arms. "They plan to question me. I need to be able to tell them something that won't get him sent to jail. Orlando, right? That's your name? If you care about your friend, you need to give me the tools I need to help get him off the hook."

"Fuck you." The man sat down in a ratty armchair. "I don't buy it. You get questioned. Well. You know jack shit, don't you? I don't see why I have to tell you anything. Way I see it, if I talk he'll be in bigger shit than if I don't. So piss off."

"Some friend you are," Richard strode closer, standing to tower over the man in the chair, planting a foot in front of the vee of his crotch. "Don't you know? Milk can kill you." Richard slipped on a thin pair of leather gloves and reached into the pocket of his jacket to withdraw a syringe. "How much have you had today already, friend?"

Surprisingly fast for someone addled—or perhaps it was nothing more than the adrenaline rush—Orlando pieced the puzzle together. If he didn't act fast, things were going to get nasty. He planted one foot against Richard's stomach and kicked with all his might, dislodging him from the seat and onto the floor. He knew he didn't have the strength to survive a proper fight, so he reached for the bat and swung it without hesitation at Richard's knees.

Richard, anticipating the move, stepped back, but the bat did connect with one knee and he grunted in pain. "There's still time for you to tell the truth, Mr. Bloom," Richard said, with surprising calm. "I'm not by nature a violent man, but I can be if necessary."

"You're no friend of Aidan's," hissed Orlando. "I can't, you fucker. If I lose him, I'm already dead, don't you see? And I'll lose him if I tell anyone."

"I wasn't lying about working with Aidan, or being fond of him," Richard told him. "I like him. I don't want to see him go to jail. What's he been bringing you, Mr. Bloom? Is it Milk? A substitute? Something else?"

"Of course it's fucking Milk. Haven't you looked at me?"

Richard's face fell. "Is Aidan Milk's creator?"

Orlando looked away. "No."

"A dealer, then?"

"...Only to me."

"Do you pay him, or is he giving it to you? You're family, right?" Richard pushed. 

The dirt beneath Orlando's nails proved to be highly engaging. He didn't reply until a minute later. "He’s my cousin, yes. And I owe him. I don't pay him, because I can't. In return, I am indebted to him. If he wants something done, I'll do it. Not that he wants anything done, the fool. Hell, I'd let him sleep with me for the amount of money between us, and that's saying a fucking lot. Fucking queers." Orlando looked up defiantly. "Are you happy now?"

For the first time since entering the house, Richard eyed his detainee with actual distaste. He wanted desperately to hit the man, if only for his crude comments about Aidan.

"He's making the Milk himself, isn't he?" Richard asked. "He's found a way."

"I don't know," Orlando weakly denied that. The fact remained that he'd already admitted that Aidan only dealt to him, which was practically giving it away already. "He might get it off someone. I don't know. He doesn't tell me."

"No," Richard stepped towards him. "I think we both know Aidan can't afford the costs associated with being a middle man. He's synthesizing Milk...for you. He's so kind-hearted, isn't he?" And he was, Richard had to admit. But stupid. So stupid. 

"You want this?" Richard asked, looking at the syringe in his hand. "It's Milk. The good stuff. We all know it's best when injected. I'm only going to throw it away if you don't take it off my hands," he said with a shrug.

Orlando stared. "You fucker," he hissed disdainfully. "You hope I die, don't you?" Why else would anyone give a syringe he'd just threatened to kill a man with, to that very same man to use in any which way? The previous round was just about fading from his system. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what he'd do with it. And there was no way to check if it was really the good stuff or if the powder was a toxic substandard that would only make things worse. Not without Aidan.

Richard chuckled darkly. "Still, you want it, don't you? I know you do." He lay the syringe on the table. "I'll let you decide, Mr. Bloom. Thank you for your honesty today," he nodded his head. "I myself was being truthful with you when I told you that I don't want any harm to befall Aidan, and I will do my best to assure that it doesn't. Name's O'Gorman, by the way. Dean O'Gorman. If he asks."

He stepped back and away from Orlando and left the townhouse, not necessarily liking what he'd learned. However, it was certainly better than the alternative.

As soon as the door closed, Orlando called Aidan. When he didn't answer, he called again, and again, until he finally got him on the line.

"There's a syringe on my table," he said, short breaths interrupting his words. "It's full. A guy who claims he's friends with you was just here. He knows, Aid. Get the hell away from him. Name's O'Gorman, he said, but I don't get why he'd tell me that if he was really a friend of yours. He claimed he was. Please save me from taking this shot. Please come over. You know what happens if I do."

"Lando," Aidan trembled at what he'd just been told. _Dean._ "Go shoot whatever's in that syringe into the toilet. While you're doing that...can you describe your visitor to me?"

 _Please, please, please,_ Aidan closed his eyes.

"Well, fuck, Aid!" Orlando sounded frustrated. His hands were shaking. "I don't want to touch it! You know why! It'll be so easy to...to...oh, fuck, help me. Tall guy. Looks like he's a cop. Crisply dressed. Says he knows you from work. You don't know an O'Gorman, do you? Prim and proper, that guy." He stared at the syringe. It would be so easy. No. _No._ He was getting rid of this. One day, he'd walk outside and not be a slave to it any longer.

"Whatever's in that syringe, Lando, it isn't Milk," Aidan said, pulling on his jacket. "I'm on my way over. It was no doubt meant to kill you, so don't you _dare_ inject it. You promise me, cousin!" he begged, rushing out the door.

Aidan was terribly relieved that the person who'd accosted Orlando wasn't really Dean, but then who was it? And why did he tell Orlando he was Dean O'Gorman? He could think of only one person who had an axe to grind with Dean. Immediately his thoughts turned to Richard.

But seriously, Richard? Shy adorable Richard who wore cardigans and Depeche Mode t-shirts? No fucking way. Someone, maybe from ChemTrex, maybe an actual cop, was messing with Aidan, and now he was using his friends’ names. Now, it was personal.

By the time Aidan got to the townhouse, Orlando sat rocking back and forth in his chair. "It's not fair," he whispered to himself, ignoring the front door being wide open. "It's not fucking fair." The high of Milk was great, while it lasted. But the aftermath was depression, and the recent events had only kicked that in harder. Orlando visibly needed more. And it was right in front of him, even though it would most likely kill him. Several times he'd thought, why wouldn't that be better? What life did he lead right now?

As soon as Aidan got there, he got up and closed the door behind him. "Table," he said, leading Aidan to it. "Please, whoever that guy was, stay away from him. Nearly-black hair. Straight nose, sharp jaw. Blue as hell eyes. If you see someone like that, tase the fuck out of him."

Aidan picked up the syringe. "I'm going to take this with me, if that's all right," he told his cousin. Orlando's description sounded all too much like Richard and it was freaking him right the fuck out. 

Richard wasn't capable of threatening anyone, was he? Well, he'd find out soon enough. Probably sooner than he'd hoped. In the meantime, he needed to get back home. He wasn't sure how much he was going to tell Dean about what had occurred today. Probably nothing. Definitely nothing, he decided.

"Lando, give me a hug all right?" he asked of the distraught man. "Keep your doors locked," he said, squeezing him tightly. "If that man comes 'round again, call me right away, and don't let him in."

"If you see him," Orlando whispered venomously against Aidan's shoulder, "this O'Gorman guy, if that's his name. Run. Kick him in the sack for me, and run."

He wouldn't feel safe in his own house for a while to come. But he'd told the intruder almost everything he knew, so it made no sense to come back.

By the time Aidan got back to his apartment, he'd forgotten Dean was going to come back. He found him standing at his step.

"Hey," Dean said softly. "I have had a _shit_ day so far. Started when I left your side," he held out his hand for Aidan.

Aidan's mood wasn't great, and the response he gave Dean was clearly lacking in enthusiasm. "Tell me about it. Where did you go?"

"I had a dentist appointment," Dean lied. "I came over here to Ireland with a toothache. I should have had it dealt with back home. I let it go too long because I'm terrified of the dentist. It took me weeks to get an appointment here. Now I need to have a root canal."

When Aidan didn't take the outstretched hand but looked at it with reluctance, he raised it to cup Aidan's face. "And you? You look like your dog just died."

To Aidan, the lie was obvious. Root canal. Why wasn't he cringing in pain? Why had he eaten his chicken pot pie the day before like nothing was the problem? It only discouraged him further. 

"Trouble with a friend." He looked away sadly. "I think I'd like to be alone for a bit, if you don't mind."

"Oh..." Dean lowered his hand. "Okay, Aidan." He wanted to grab him by both shoulders and tell him that he loved him and it didn't matter what he was hiding in his closet, or what he was doing with it. It wasn't going to change. 

He had never hated his job more than at that moment.

"Will you call me...when you feel like company?"

"Sure," Aidan shrugged blankly. He hated the insecurity. If he could know for sure, one hundred percent sure, that it hadn't been Dean back there, threatening family, then he wouldn't have minded. As it was, Dean was potentially after his secret. A cop. Or worse, underground. He sat morosely on the ledge of the sofa while he waited for Dean to gather his belongings.

That theater date with Richard was going to have to be cancelled too. So much for having a great weekend.

"Listen," Dean turned to him when he couldn't take the silence anymore. "I like you a lot Aidan. Way more than is sensible. If you didn't enjoy last night, or if I've done something to upset you...God, please tell me. I didn't go into last night hoping it would be a one-time thing. I want more," he clarified. "More of you. More of _us_."

Aidan looked at him. "Where did you go, Dean?" he asked. "It wasn't the dentist, I don't believe that for a minute. Last night was amazing. But this morning I woke up to an empty bed and now that you return, you tell me about toothaches you have never mentioned before."

Dean took a long, deep breath. "Can we sit?" 

Dean sat down on the edge of the sofa, reaching into his pocket. "You're right. I lied. There's no toothache. I didn't go to the dentist. I found this on your floor this morning." He produced the bag of Milk. "This, coupled with your dodgy behavior last night...it kinda freaked me out. I went for a walk, to clear my head. Are you using, Aidan?" he asked. "No matter how you answer, it won't change how I feel about you."

Aidan leaned back, his eyes on the bag. How...?

"I'm not a user," he spoke quietly. "You'd know if I was. Bags under my eyes, compulsive behavior, everything. It's for a friend. He got hooked to a street drug that ruined him. We're...I'm trying to get him off it, but it's impossible to go cold turkey. It would kill him. While he still physically needs it, I—please don't tell anyone, Dean. My career would be over. I fix it for him. To keep him from that environment. To keep him from committing a crime for a fix. It's him I went to see. He received a threat."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. "You're synthesizing a drug to help your friend wean off it," he marveled. "You are both a very brave genius...and incredibly stupid. Aren't you afraid to go to jail? Don't get me wrong. I admire what you're doing, so much," he reached forward and took Aidan's hand experimentally. "But if your friend's already been threatened—by the police, a dealer?—it's only a matter of time before things lead back to you. You have to be so, so careful, Aid."

"I think about that." Aidan idly played with his keys. "I do, you know. It's not what I wanted for myself. But what else am I supposed to do? He can't go into rehab, or he'll be taken in. He definitely couldn't continue the way he was going either. Please, you have to promise me not to tell anyone. If the wrong people found out...It's a monopoly, Dean, that drug. If they find out someone cracked the recipe, they'll hunt me down until I either work for them or am six feet under."

Aidan looked for his phone. He took a snapshot of Dean before Dean could approve of anything and sent it off to his cousin.

 _This is Dean,_ his message said. _Is it him?_

Dean wrinkled his forehead, puzzled at Aidan's actions. Then it dawned on him.

"You think it was me who threatened your friend?" he asked sadly. And why wouldn't Aidan's suspect him? He was there when Aidan was called away. It would have been easy enough to follow him and find out where he'd gone, who he'd seen. And then, the unaccounted-for time this morning. 

Despite it being completely understandable that Aidan would think that, it still hurt. "It wasn't me, Aidan," he assured him. 

Aidan didn't say anything to him until the reply. He could ruin everything by saying the wrong thing. When Orlando finally did respond—which felt like it took hours—he breathed out in relief and shook his head.

"I wouldn't have thought you were him," he explained with relief lacing his words, "but whoever was there gave him your name. He used your name as a cover. I had to know for sure. I don't know why, but I'm so sorry you got involved. Please let me just check one more thing."

Aidan sent Richard's intranet profile picture. _Just to be sure, this isn't him either, right?_

His friend's quicker-than-lightning response chilled him to the bone.

Dean knew it had been Richard before Aidan did. "Aidan?" he asked tentatively, as Aidan had a look on his face of both horror and betrayal. "What is it?" he put his hand carefully over the other man's.

Aidan looked up at him. "Richard. It was Richard. That...bastard went to my cousin’s house and asked him about me. He threatened to kill him. _Kill_ him. I work with a guy who threatens to kill my friends. Who knows where I live. Who knows _you_. I don't know why, but would a cop ever threaten people with a syringe? Which means he's working for the other guys. The manufacturers. That's...I have to get out of here."

"In the States a cop _would_ do something like that, especially if he were alone, undercover and thought he could get away with it," Dean told him. "It's easier for me to conceive Richard being in law enforcement than to picture him as a thug working for a drug dealer. I mean, c'mon. He looks like a fucking librarian. If you really feel you need to leave your home, you're always welcome at mine," he told the distraught Irishman. "But, it might be best not to let Richard know that you know what he did."

"The only way to do that is to avoid you. It was your name he used." Aidan remembered something and fell back on the couch with a groan and a paling complexion. "I promised him to see a show with him tomorrow. I need to cancel that." No matter what Dean told him, he still saw Richard as a threat. "Can I stay over at your place this weekend? He probably knows where you live, but he'll first need to be sure that it's your place I'll be at. What do I do?"

Dean wanted desperately to assure Aidan that he'd be all right. He'd be all right because the CIA could, and would, place him in Witness Protection if need be. But right now the only place they'd put him was in jail—because of what he was doing.

"The first thing I'd do is get rid of any product you have around the house. Were you making the stuff at work? Whatever equipment you have, outside of ChemTrex, should go as well. If Richard _is_ a cop, it's only a matter of time before they get a search warrant for your apartment," Dean told him.

"If he's not a cop—if he's working for someone less reputable—they'll still come to your place, but without a warrant, and probably sooner than the police would. Either way, your stuff has _got_ to go," Dean told him, noticing the worried look on Aidan's face. "It's nothing you can’t purchase or make again, right? When you're somewhere safer? I know you're concerned about your friend and feel he can't go to rehab. But anyone can. It's free over here, right? Perhaps that's exactly what he needs. And sooner rather than later. It'll be damn near impossible for Richard to get to him in a secure facility."

Aidan looked up pleadingly. "You don't understand. Lando's done things. That's what they do. They get you hooked on cheap introduction fares. Then, when you've become dependent, they start asking more. And more. Until you can't pay for it anymore. That's when they start telling you what to do. He's robbed people. He's assaulted people for running behind on their loans. He's not proud of it. If he goes into rehab, he gets into the system. They'll lock him away for years. And _they've_ got connections there."

Aidan looked around the apartment, distraught. He ran a hand through his hair. Dean was right, he needed to get rid of everything. "Will you help me?" he asked as if Dean had just told him to burn down his house. "I need two bags for him for the coming days. The rest should go. And if it makes you feel safer, you can hold onto it. But I hope you won't. I don't want you around that poison. It will destroy your life."

"Do you remember when I told you I left the States because I wanted to escape a bad relationship?" Dean reminded him. "It wasn't a romantic one. It was a friend of mine. He'd been addicted to cocaine in its various forms for a long, long time. He was in and out of rehab. I guess that's one of the reasons I got so good at tech writing. I did so much research," he sighed. "But he didn't want to help himself. Still doesn't. He became a shadow of the friend I loved. He used me. I hated it. I needed to get away from it. So, when money came my way, I came here."

The friend was real. It had been the reason Dean had gone into drug enforcement. But all his training never really gave him the tools to deal with addicts.

"If your friend wants help—and I don't mean in the form of more Milk —he should get it. Even if it means incarceration at the end of his rehab. Being in jail is probably the best place for him to stay clean, to be honest. And it beats being dead. I'll help you in any way you want me to," Dean told him. "Where do we start?"

"They will kill him for having gotten his stuff off me," Aidan lost his patience for a dreaded second, and felt bad about it immediately. He hid his face in his hands. "They'll kill him because they know they can get to me through him. A guy who makes Milk, the recipe only they should be having, do you think they'll spare either of us? I'm really sorry about your friend. You shouldn't have had to go through that. But I can't let Orlando do that. He wouldn't, either way. The only thing that I can do is make sure he gets clean by controlling his usage."

"Leaving him alone with boxes full of product isn't the answer, I don't think. They'll be watching him, and his house. I'm not even sure it's safe for you to visit there anymore to be honest," he frowned, trying to think of an alternative. "I can only say that right now you need to cover your own ass," he suggested. "What do you want me to do?"

Aidan felt nauseous when he thought of destroying all his equipment. But then he looked up. "Boxes? What do you know about boxes?"

"You said earlier you wanted to give him two boxes...or was it bags?" Dean's eyes were wide with what he hoped translated with sincerity. "I'm not exactly thinking straight. You just got done telling me Richard tried to kill someone while pretending to be me! Aidan, someone's coming here. Probably sooner rather than later. Whether it's the cops, or worse...we need to move.

"No, I said bags," Aidan frowned. "Can you...wait outside the door for me? I'll get rid of all of it, but it's not something I'm proud of."

"Whatever you want, Aidan," Dean acquiesced. "I'd feel better keeping an eye on the door anyway. I'll be right outside."

He'd wished he'd brought his gun. It was in the safe back at his apartment.

So far, this was turning out to be both the best and worst weekend of the year. Aidan smiled sadly and leaned forward to kiss Dean gently on the mouth. "Thank you," he said. "For still sticking with me after this crazy mess. Any other guy I know would have run by now."

It took him half an hour. At one point, blue smoke wafted out the vents of the apartment. Aidan knew what he was doing, wearing a mask and extinguishing anything before it got airborne. By the end of it, his sink was blackened and in a cardboard box on the counter lay a thousand shards of equipment. When he walked outside, the apartment was once again clean. 

Aidan carried the cardboard box. On his back was a duffel bag with some clothes. He had no idea when he'd next be home.

"Your place?" he asked with a quiet voice.

Dean nodded, taking the box from him. "We can swing by a dumpster across town and get rid of this on the way. On Monday, you go to work like nothing's happened. Anything else would make whoever's investigating you suspicious," he cautioned. "Okay?"

"Dutch courage tonight?" Aidan asked hopefully.

Dean chuckled. "I don't have anything at my place, but we can pick some up, and some groceries," he assured him.

Aidan looked terrified, and he wanted to do everything he could to assure him that he'd keep him safe. Even kill. Especially Richard Armitage.

"Oh!" And Aidan ran back into the apartment. He returned with two containers of leftover chicken pot pie. "I put the rest in the fridge, so it should be safe." Part of him hoped that the toxicity in his apartment would spike and deal with any people breaking in. But he'd not done a very good job at that; Aidan had been meticulous in not leaving a trace.

Come nightfall, he'd passed out on Dean's couch from all the stress.

Dean microwaved the leftover pot pie. They'd stopped for some snack food, wine—and some harder liquor—on the way home, shortly after disposing of the box of smashed equipment in a dumpster behind the store.

But right now, Dean was certain Aidan needed to rest. He wasn't about to awaken him. And no one was getting into this apartment without knowing the digital ID code. Aidan couldn't possibly be anywhere safer right now.

Dean took the comforter from his bed and draped it over his friend, then sat down at his table with a plate of leftovers and a book.


	7. Everybody Comes, and Comes Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean: 2; Aidan: 0.
> 
> Pure porn with a bit of fluffy angst. Oh, and shower sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the lyrics to AC/DC's "Big Balls."

As wasn't uncommon in situations where the smell of good food hung in the air—not that those situations frequently arose—Aidan found himself waking up and looking around blearily. His eyes fell on Dean. Unbidden, Aidan smiled. It was a sweet sight to see him so engrossed in his book. He had no idea how Dean was coping, because a normal guy would have shied away from Aidan as soon as he'd confessed to fabricating drugs for a friend and, if that didn't scare them off, then having said friend threatened with death would do the trick.

Yet, here Dean was, perfectly at ease on his seat. Like none of it mattered.

"You got some left for me?" he asked, hoarse from sleep. "What time is it?"

"Oh...hey," Dean smiled. "It's only 7 p.m. You were only asleep thirty minutes or so. Plenty of food left, but I can put it in the fridge if you want to sleep some more. You're welcome to use my bed." He got up, carefully bookmarking his place, and came to crouch by Aidan's side.

Leaning forward, he kissed his forehead. "I'll take care of you, Aidan. I promise."

"How?" Aidan challenged with the cheek of a sleepy five-year-old. He kissed Dean before he could respond to the comment and sat up. "I'll sleep later. Pass me my bowl, please? What are you reading?"

"It's a story about an American woman who had a god-awful childhood...she and her siblings were moved from place to place by some jobless, meandering parents," he spoke as he spooned up some pot pie for Aidan. "Alcoholic, mentally ill, they were. It's basically about how she decided that she wanted to be an author and made it happen, despite her upbringing."

He smiled, handing the bowl and a spoon to Aidan. "You're going to be all right," Dean assured him. 

"Should I go tomorrow?"

Because Aidan still couldn't let it go. He pulled up his legs and moved aside for Dean to sit on the couch next to him. He absently poked at his chicken.

"Go with Richard?" Dean pondered. "Shit, that's...that's a tough one. By all accounts, you have no idea what he's done. Except you _do._ And you said you'd go, so pulling out would be very suspicious." He frowned. "Do you feel comfortable going with him? You could always invite a friend along..."

Aidan took a bite. "And risk you being the next target of his unwanted attention? If I go, I go alone. He said he wanted to tell me something. I said I wanted to tell him something too, so if I cancel, it'll look weird. But no. I don't feel comfortable around him. To think that someone so civilized could be so..." He couldn't find the words. "Is it too much to ask if I asked you to be in the neighborhood, just in case something goes wrong? Not that I want you involved in this. It's just… it'd make me feel better."

"You want me to try to get a ticket as well? Or just follow you? I can't imagine him trying to harm you in a crowded theater. But I'd like to keep an eye on you before and after," Dean suggested.

A well of warmth blossomed in the other man's chest. He looked at Dean with infatuation as well as more than a little confusion.

"Why are you doing this?" Aidan longed to know. "I'm far from ideal and I probably remind you of your friend all the time. Why do you stay?"

"You are nothing like him," Dean said with conviction. "You're not an addict, Aidan. You're trying to _help_ addicts. Do you have any idea how admirable that is?" Dean put a hand on his thigh. "Maybe you're just a few steps away from coming up with a substance that'll help them truly wean off, without the horrible side effects. Something like Methadone for Heroin users. Imagine what you could do with the right amount of money and time," he mused. "You...you're just brilliant, and sweet. So, that's why," he shrugged.

Aidan laughed. "Wouldn't that be amazing?" And it would be, if he could find the resources and not risk his life on a daily basis. "I'm lucky to have found a guy like you. Or actually, to have a guy like you find me, and think he's something." He nudged Dean gently with his toes and looked down once, before offering a hopeful smile. "Are we dating? Please say yes to that."

"Yeah," Dean met his gaze. "We are. And I have a feeling that you can make it happen, Aidan. I think, some day, you're going to end the Milk epidemic," he said with conviction, squeezing Aidan's hand.

A flurry of emotions welled up in Aidan. He hardly heard the last part of the sentence, instead sat there grinning, giddy like an idiot. "Okay. I kinda wanted to tell Richard about you tomorrow. I know I shouldn't, but I really, really like you, and I don't want to pretend to hate you. It's dangerous to tell him, so maybe I'll just tell him I like you, so he doesn't come after you. But uh," he grinned broader, "okay. We're dating. That's really nice."

Dean took the bowl from Aidan's hand and placed it on the floor. "C'mere," he offered, laying back, pulling Aidan forward to lay on his chest. "Let me hold you for awhile."

When Aidan did, wrapping an arm around Dean's waist and melting into his touch, Dean let his thoughts wander. He knew there had to be a way to convince the CIA that Aidan was working on a Milk substitute, a way to help addicts. He could get him funding...and they could be together without lies.

Then he realized that to do all this required him to let Aidan know that he was a CIA agent sent there to investigate him. Nothing Dean would tell him after that could possibly matter. Aidan would be betrayed, hurt beyond repair. There had to be a way he keep Aidan safe, and still find his own happiness. He kissed the top of Aidan's head. "We're dating," he repeated.

Aidan smiled and closed his eyes. Under other circumstances, he would have sat up and demanded a different kind of attention by far already. But these weren't usual circumstances, and the fear that still coursed through him diminished any interest. Maybe for distraction. Maybe. But he rather wanted to just not be alone and comfortably soothed by Dean's presence.

"I wish the circumstances were different," he admitted. "I would have jumped you if you'd have let me." He shifted until his head rested on Dean's lap and he looked up. "Tell me about yourself. Just, anything. Odd things."

"Well," Dean smiled to himself, "my mother was a painter. She tried to teach me. I'm not nearly as good at it, but I dabble. Watercolors, mostly. I did a lot of theater in school and university. Not musical theater," he chuckled. "I'm a horrible singer."   
He stroked Aidan's hair. "My new favorite color is vermillion."

"Really?" Aidan chuckled, pulling an amused face. "Because of my shirt? What was your old one? I don't have a favorite color, I think." He reached up and brushed Dean's cheek. "My mum tried to get me into law school. Or something else that was 'proper'. She even tried to get me into acting when it became obvious that I wanted to go for chemistry. Especially with the many failed experiments. Said it was 'right up my alley', whatever that means."

"Vermillion, because of that day in the park—with the flowers," Dean breathed in and out slowly. "You are a natural character, Aidan. I'm sure that's what your mother meant. And, think of all the acting you've had to do lately, just to get around what you've been doing at home. You have a vermillion shirt? Because I'd love to see it on you, but open...and nothing else underneath." Dean grinned at the image.

"Mh." Aidan closed his eyes. "It's at home. Sorry. I'll owe you that one when this whole thing blows over, okay?" He looked up. "Unless you've got a shirt that color I can borrow."

"I don't," Dean said sadly, "but now I want one. In fact, I want yours. It'll smell like you," he soothingly rubbed Aidan's back, dreaming of how nice it would be to be able to do this every night, in a home they shared.

"Haven't you got an orange one? Brown? If I'm giving you my shirt, I want one in return. One that fits." Aidan looked at Dean with a challenge. "And by fit I mean that it doesn't tear at the seams as soon as I start moving."

"That's hardly fair," Dean huffed. "I'm smaller than you, in case you hadn't noticed. But I'm sure I have a sweatshirt lying around that might fit the bill..."

"Should I get up?"

"Absolutely not," Dean told him, then added. "Well, not _yet,_ at least. I like this, Aid. God, I-I love this," he caressed Aidan's cheekbone with his thumb.

Aidan felt warm inside. It showed in the way his eyes crinkled and carried some of that warmth into their exchange. "What's not to love about it? I could get used to this." He didn't want to spoil it by telling Dean that he could think of ways to make it better, so he reached for his bowl of food and clumsily took a bite from where he lay.

"We can get up and sit at the table if you like," Dean offered. "That whiskey is dying to be opened."

The argument was valid, but nonetheless there was no movement of the log on his lap. "And give up this comfort?" Aidan pressed a kiss against Dean's stomach, available within reach, and shook his head. The chicken wasn't easy to eat, though that didn't matter. "That whiskey sounds great, though."

But Aidan soon stilled when an unpleasant thought came up. "What if someone's in my apartment right now?"

"The fucker better not damage that vermillion shirt, is all I can say," Dean quipped. "Or steal the 'Song of Fire and Ice' series. I was serious about borrowing that."

He ran his hands through Aidan's hair. "The next couple days'll be scary, but I'm here with you. My apartment's got great security. I'll be with you every step of the way, I promise."

"If he touches that, he's a dead man," Aidan pointed out. "But if he burns them before I can recover them, I promise I'll buy you them as a present." He wrinkled his nose. "You have a way with words, I have to admit. You're making me feel like I'm going into rehab." But his expression sobered up after that. "What do I do? I don't want to quit my job, but there's a guy who's after me, and I can't get rid of him, not without going into hiding. I don't want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder."

"Well, I'm a writer. I kinda _have_ to have a way with words, don't I? I think that way with words could come in handy. It might be time for you to seriously undertake a new project," Dean took a deep breath. "I think you should begin hard core research on a drug or method to help people wean off Milk. With your talents, and my marketing and writing ability, we could obtain the funding. And if you get picked up by a company with a big enough cash base, they'll take care of you, too."

"If I did that, they'd find me in no time." They both knew what that meant. Though the thought sounded promising, it would be too dangerous. "Besides, I wouldn't have a lab, even if I kept my identity hidden. But find me the right place and it beats seeing Richard day to day."

"I don't want to give you false hope, Aidan," Dean began, treading on dangerous ground, "but I know some folks back in the States. Folks who are desperate to meet someone like you. Would ..." here, he paused, unsure what to say next.

Aidan looked up. "Would I move there? That's what you want to ask me, right?"

"If it meant your safety, and a place where you could develop a product. To make a difference?" Dean wondered. "Yeah, would you?"

The choice was, surprisingly, not hard. "I dreamed of being able to get a job somewhere else, actually. See the world. So yes, the answer's yes. I would. But I'd—god, I'm sorry if this sounds far too serious or something—I just always dreamed about going abroad when I wasn't seeing anyone. I don't want to leave anyone just for a dream, and I'd hate to leave him because circumstances force me to. And Orlando. I can't leave him here."

"It certainly wouldn't be a hardship for me to move anywhere with you," Dean held him tightly, hoping his incredible relief didn't show on his face. "I don't know what to say about your friend. Especially with his possible history. I wish I did."

Their talk was getting serious, too serious for casual consideration, and so Aidan sat up and pulled up his legs. "If we could get him under protection from Richard, I think we could keep him here." He wondered how far Dean would take these dreams that sounded more and more like plans between them.

"I think Orlando wouldn't have to fear anything more from Richard, to be honest," Dean told him. "I suspect he got all he could from him. I'm just relieved he wasn't hurt. Hey," he put a hand on Aidan's shoulder. "How about we open the whiskey and do a few shots? I'll put on some music."

Dean got up and went to a small sound system he'd set up, where he promptly slipped in a Beatles Greatest Hits CD. _Ob-la-di Ob-la-da_ started up, and he swayed his hips to the beat, turning around to face Aidan with a smile. "Beatles makes everything better," he pronounced.

He was watched with a raised eyebrow and an amused quirk in Aidan's lips. "Are you dancing? Are you seriously dancing? Get me the whiskey, you. I can't cope with this sober." What he didn't say was that he couldn't cope with the way Dean moved, showing off muscles and a tight frame that Aidan wanted to get his hands on. For the moment he forgot about his friend. Instead he allowed himself to become enraptured by this man in front of him.

"You'll enjoy it more after a few drinks," Dean assured him. He shimmied over to the table and unsealed the bottle of Kilbeggan. "I don't own shot glasses, so we'll have to have taller drinks. Just take it easy." He poured about five shots worth into two tumblers. "Here you go," he handed one to Aidan. "Feel the burn." He himself took a neat swallow and grimaced. "Good stuff."

The enthusiasm was infectious. On the couch, Aidan followed his lead with a courageous large gulp that proved to be slightly too much, but was nonetheless appreciated. "Ah," he sighed, "good stuff." The tingling warmth plummeted down and felt like it burnt a hole in his stomach, before the rush went up to his head. Aidan laughed. He wasn't a guy who loved to get drunk just for the sake of peer behavior, nor loose morale, but he did love the feeling of weightlessness.

The moment Dean came too close, Aidan pulled him on top of him and kissed him hard.

"Mmm, god," Dean panted when he came up for air. "You're strong. And persistent," his hand slid down Aidan's chest to his denim-covered cock, which he rubbed suggestively. "Can I have dessert?" he asked with a glint in his eye.

The look in the other's eyes was telling. "I couldn't deny you anything." And a wonderful distraction it was, from Richard and the mess his life had become over the past day, though it was not that which moved Aidan to hold Dean's gaze as he pulled off his own shirt from being an obstruction between them, hesitating only shortly before doing the same to Dean's shirt. "You work out, don't you?" he breathed. Dean wasn't the type, he thought, but Aidan had no objections, other than feeling a little pudgy in comparison.

Dean shrugged, "A bit. Not since I moved here. Been too busy," he admitted. "I do like to run though. Speaking of...." he sniffed his own armpit. "How about we take a shower? I have a great shower," he said with a sly smile.

Aidan stood up at once, lifting Dean up with him and putting him down before it could get embarrassing. He undid his belt and pushed his socks off. "Where is it?"

Dean chuckled at his exuberance. "This way, tiger," he took Aidan's hand and led him down the hallway. True to his word, Dean's apartment was still very sparse, but the bathroom was quite modern.

A large glass shower with three heads had room for at least the two of them—if not more. Clearly Dean was taking advantage of it. Inside was a plastic caddy holding several bottles of body wash and shampoo. Four thick, large towels hung outside it. 

"Nice, huh?" Dean puffed out his chest. "I should have mentioned, I _really_ love my shower. You will too."

Aidan was impressed, he had to admit it. Though he didn't remain in that bubble for long; the thought of Dean having to strip fully to take a shower soon took up most of his resources. "So, ever used this shower with two other people?" he wondered while he finally undid his own jeans and stepped naked into the cabin. It was truly a gorgeous shower. His own tiny one-man cubicle with old-fashioned tiles instead of this pristine white looked like a shabby little thing, really.

It also had the effect of feeling like he had landed in a hotel room. It was too perfect. Too neat. He wanted to test everything, and more than that, he wanted to push Dean against that wall, wet from clinging water, and kiss him senseless, the both of them naked and in want.

But the many dials confused him. Not wanting to scald himself, Aidan was forced to look back at Dean helplessly.

Dean chuckled. " _Two_ other people? Heck, I've only ever used it alone," he admitted. He put his thumbs in the waistband of his unbuttoned jeans and shoved both layers covering his lower half down deftly.

"You like a good, pounding stream, or a tropical rainforest-like mist?" he asked, stepping into the stall with Aidan and sealing the glass door. "I'll get the water started."

He reached to his right and turned on a tap, holding his hand under it until he approved of the temperature, then another switch turned on the showers, as if it were raining inside. "There we go," he smiled.

"...Tropical rainforest." Aidan stood in awe, his aroused state momentarily forgotten, as around them a shower of tiny droplets rained down on them. He looked up, then stopped doing that when it got him water in his eyes, and instead turned his gaze on Dean. Aidan didn't need to speak to demonstrate the way he worshipped this man's body. Their lips connected again as he edged forward and diligently maneuvered Dean against the wall, where he pressed their bodies flush and his hands ended up on the firm curves of the man's ass.

"You look so beautiful," he whispered. "It makes me very proud you want me too, though I don't know what I did to earn it."

"I must confess," Dean told him, caressing his flank, "the attraction was physical, initially. I came into that lab because you were so adorable, bopping away with your headphone on, and your eyes closed. Then, you turned out to be kind. And funny. And a genius. You could have anyone," Dean told him, "and you picked the funny looking Kiwi."

"Funny-looking," snorted Aidan. "Have you looked at yourself?" For good measure, he took chance to look him over once again, and almost impulsively wanted to drop to the ground to show his appreciation in tactile ways. He didn't; instead his hands traced a path down before cupping his face, his thumb brushing Dean's lip, then tentatively pushing the finger forward.

"...Heaven help me."

And Aidan did sink down on his knees and kissed Dean elsewhere.

"Best...shower...ever," Dean moaned, laying his head back against the tiled wall, one hand snaking into Aidan's curls. "I am so looking forward to washing your hair," he confessed. 

Aidan looked up with a smirk. "Do it." And, rolling his hips, he swooped back in, taking Dean in as deep as he could.

Dean, very unused to this sort of attention, couldn't possibly consider doing _anything_ else while it was going on. Even coherent speech was eluding him as Aidan worked him expertly. 

Dean didn't question why he'd never found another man attractive—at least, attractive enough to be intimate. But he couldn't help lamenting the circumstances. More and more, he had no doubt he had to find a way to keep Aidan in his life. 

Aidan was so beautiful, eyes closed and cheeks hollowed, water cascading over his olive skin. So adorably trusting and wonderful. _How can I possibly hurt him?_ Dean wondered. _I can't._

His tears mixed with the shower's spray as he came with Aidan's name on his lips.

Little did Aidan know of Dean's internal struggles, and when he pulled away he made a show of swallowing all. His thumb dabbed the last trickle back between his lips. Sitting back on his haunches, he looked up.

"Dean?" he asked for the other to look at him. "Tell me I can do this to you again tonight." For Aidan, in his very different mindset, didn't think of all the ways in which this could go wrong. All he wanted was to express how strongly he wanted him. He was hard, himself, but he tried not to have Dean notice. This wasn't about favors. Aidan expected nothing in return.

"Aid," the blond's eyes were a bit red, but it could have been from the steam, "anything you want. _Anything_." He offered himself freely, helping Aidan to his feet. "I'm willing to try anything. Show me what you want." He reached to the controls on the wall and turned up the intensity of the water. "Let me wash your hair?" he asked.

Full of an intoxicated smile; such were Aidan's eyes. He nodded and turned around obediently. It helped hide the faint glow on his cheeks when he spoke, though it did nothing for the voice, broken by restraint. "You shouldn't say things like that. There's so much that I want. But more than anything, I want us to go slow. I've been in impulsive relationships before. They never lasted. And I want it, but I want it when you want it so much that you forget you haven't done it before, that you forget the technicalities of it all." He smiled to himself. "Don't worry about all the other ways in which I intend to drive you crazy."

"Turn around," Dean told him, gently taking Aidan by the shoulders and repositioning him so Aidan's back was to him. Dean wrapped an arm around Aidan's waist. "I'm about to turn on all the shower heads. Be prepared," he warned, pushing a few buttons. "It's rather like a car wash."

At once, the other shower heads came to life, gently at first, then harder, pounding their bodies with gently pulsating warm water. Dean kissed the back of Aidan's neck and said over the rush of the water. "I was serious. Anything you want. I'm not worried you'll hurt me, Aidan."

Aidan's hair was soaked by then, so Dean reached for the shampoo and began lathering his hair, slowly and sensually. 

A soft chuckle sounded, and Aidan shook his head, until he realized it wasn't very helpful and promptly stopped. "Not tonight. But believe me when I say I want to. If I'm slightly selfish, I like to have that to look forward to." He groaned at the fingers in his hair. Already his loins felt hot. Aidan didn't tell Dean about that.

There were many things that truthfully scared Aidan a little about them. There were more desires he realized to be stirring in himself. He longed to keep this man. He longed to take him to his family one day, perhaps take him to the States to pursue a job he was far better suited for, he longed to wake up next to him in the morning and fall asleep with him by his side in the evening. 

And that was just not something to say to a man only two days a lover.

"What do you want?" Aidan asked finally, his eyes shut. "Without telling me I can have anything I want, what do you want?"

"Want to make you come," Dean lowered one of his sudsy hands to cup Aidan's arousal, slowly stroking. "Once, twice...maybe more. Hold your breath," he warned. "Time to rinse." He steered Aidan into the spot where the water came down thickest. It took little time at all for the shampoo to be gone. "Squeaky clean," Dean ruffled the wet locks with one hand, and eased Aidan around to face him again.

Water beat down on the pair as Dean kissed Aidan more passionately.

A shiver coursed its violent way through Aidan's skin. He responded by pulling Dean's hips up against his own and then moved his fingertips down his side and hips in a way that was almost kneading. "Here?" he asked, "Or when we're dry?" Water wasn't the best lubricant—in fact it rather ruined the effectiveness thereof. Not that that mattered if Dean chose to go down on him.

"I can't wait, sorry," Dean reached to a nearby shelf and squirted some body wash into his hand, which he slipped between their bodies, coming to rest on Aidan's turgid organ. Hot, slippery and wet he stroked, then decided he liked it better with Aidan's back to him. He slowly walked around behind Aidan, then continued on as before, hips slotted so that Aidan could feel Dean was quickly becoming hard again. 

"Damn you and your cute ass," Dean lamented, wrapping his arm around the younger man's waist for leverage.

"Do something about it," Aidan challenged breathlessly. How he longed to have something, _anything_ , to fulfill the need of having something in him that woke and throbbed at Dean's tease.

Dean did want to do something, but he wasn't sure what. Did Aidan like to be fucked? Or did he want to fuck Dean? Dean wasn't sure how to proceed if either was the case.

He thought back to when they'd met, those awkward conversations. He didn't want this to be awkward. It was too important. 

He sped up his strokes, touching Aidan the way he himself enjoyed being touched. The hand at Aidan's waist slipped up over the wet plane of Aidan's stomach to pinch a nipple.

Under his hands, Aidan was willing and malleable. When he felt Dean against him, he let his head fall back to rest on the other's shoulder. His eyes were closed in ecstasy at the ministrations and turned out to have the convenient side effect of not getting water in his eyes, but Aidan's lips were parted for his gasps and droplets often intermingled with hot breath.

The hesitation was clear. So Aidan reached for the hand that caressed him and led it back between them to rest on his ass, nudging it closer to the middle. "Touch me there?" he begged. Aidan did his best to suggest there was no pressure; if Dean didn't want it, that was fine. But if he did...

A shudder ran through him and his hips bucked back when the sensation started to build. Aidan's hand clasped the side of Dean's face and he panted, "Oh, fuck."

_Too soon,_ the warning bells in Dean's head shouted. But his heart responded with an _I don't give a shit._

He looked around for something, anything, that might help with what Aidan was asking for. His eyes settled on the body wash. He squirted a bit of it into his free hand. "Aid," he whispered in his friend's ear. "Turn around. Face me."

When he did, Dean knelt in front of him. He allowed the shower to rinse Aidan's dick free of soap before closing his mouth around it. Now came the part he was worried about. He slipped his right hand around the back of Aidan's thighs, his middle finger protruding a bit more than the rest, and moved his slippery hand to part Aidan's butt cheeks.

"Can I put a finger inside you?" he asked.

"I'd like that," breathed Aidan, looking down. He wasn't aware of Dean's internal struggles; all he saw was a man on his knees, eager to try out new things. If he'd known, he would have stopped them. As it was, his knees parted to solidify his stance where there was no support from walls to be had, and a hand brushed soothingly over his shoulder.

Dean drew his fingers down along Aidan's cleft towards his goal. "If I hurt you, stop me," he cautioned, over the sound of gently falling water. "I am _so_ faking it right now," he attempted to joke, but really was concerned about hurting Aidan.

He lay his head against Aidan's abdomen to steady himself and used his left hand to ever so slightly spread Aidan's cheeks as he cautiously felt around for his hole. It felt impossibly tight, and his nervousness ratcheted up another notch. He encircled the opening with his finger, teasing, trying to get Aidan to relax, then ventured to insert the tip of his middle finger.

"All right?" he asked. "I haven't done this before. Let me know if it hurts, okay?"

Aidan found his heart clench at the words. Dean wasn't as confident at all—he could pretend to do anything Aidan wanted all he wanted, Aidan himself had told him only to do anything if he truly wanted it without worry, and this wasn't that. He drew Dean up gently and kissed him on the lips.

"Please," he whispered, "not just for me. I can wait, if you're not comfortable yet. Like I said, there's plenty of other things we can do. And if you insist, then maybe not in the shower. There are more comfortable places to do this."

"In bed, then?" Dean asked, eyes wide. "Aidan, I want to make you feel good. As wonderful as you make me feel. Teach me what you like? Give me your road map," he smiled, shutting off the water and looking down at Aidan's bobbing erection. His own was rapidly gaining in enthusiasm again as well.

He stepped out of the shower into the chilly bathroom and grabbed two of the thick towels from the racks nearby. He wrapped one around Aidan's shoulders. "C'mon," he led him out of the stall.

"We've got the time," Aidan kissed the shell of his ear tenderly. "No rush to do anything tonight." Nonetheless, still dripping water from the shower, he looked around until he located what he assumed would be the bedroom and sauntered over, looking back at Dean to gauge if he was in the right place. When he was, he pushed the door open behind him and let the towel fall on a puddle around his feet.

"If you've got oil," he called over his shoulder, "bring it with you."

He'd made up his mind. Aidan felt himself heating up when he thought of how he was going to breach this insistent topic properly.

Dean shivered as he dried himself. It was as if every ounce of blood in his body had gone to his cock. 

"I have lube," he confessed, mouth dry, as Aidan crawled sensually across his bed. "In that drawer on your right." He gave his hair one more quick run-through with the towel and tossed it away next to Aidan's. He crawled in bed next to his friend, who had just retrieved a medium sized bottle of lube from Dean's bedside table.

"Will that do?" he asked.

Aidan pulled up his legs and lay flat on the bed, the bottle next to him. He closed his eyes, hoping to lure Dean closer, the way he lay like he was unsuspecting. "Yes," he said with a loaded voice. But as soon as Dean lay next to him, he moved fast until he'd crawled his way on top of him. Aidan laughed playfully when he looked down.

"How about," he asked, "I show you how first?"

Dean sighed with relief, body relaxing under Aidan's. "I was hoping you'd suggest that," he whispered in Aidan's ear. "Mm," he nibbled on the lobe, hands sliding up to cup Aidan's ass. "You're so warm on top of me. Is there a best finger to start with?" he wondered.

He was slightly manhandled as Aidan found himself the best position to trail a path of mouthy kisses down his chest, further and further down. "Just the one you can move the best," he shrugged. "That's probably the index finger. Lesson number two...distraction usually helps." Aidan pushed Dean's legs gently apart and easily slid his mouth around his arousal.

"W-wait a second!" Dean gasped at the pleasure Aidan's mouth was giving him. "You're going to do it to _me_? "

"It's the best way to show you."

Aidan continued uninterrupted. His fingertips tried to soothe Dean's tension until he considered the nerves sufficiently called. That's when he coated his index finger and nudged the cool gel where it begged entrance.

Dean was mortified—for all of 15 seconds. Then, between Aidan's skillful, patient and persistent fingers, he found himself melting back into the bed. Unashamed, he opened up his most private area to a man he'd known only a month.

This is _big_ , he thought, even as it was happening. It was to be, he found out later, a pivotal moment.

"Keep going, Aidan," he encouraged. "I want this."

Adrenaline rushed through Aidan at the words. He longed to be on the receiving side of these administrations. His cock was rock hard, aching to be touched, and had been left alone in favor of showing Dean the ropes. But he regretted nothing as he thought, _distraction_ , and took Dean in all the way until the back of his throat met with the head of the other man's erection, then eased the first finger in.

Aidan was ready to stop at any time, paying close attention to Dean's response.

Dean tensed at the intrusion, even though he'd known it was coming. "It's all right," he assured Aidan. "Just...let me get used to you being in there. And...more, please?" he felt himself blushing, the heat washing over him. "You aren't going to break me," he added, spreading his legs a little bit more for emphasis.

Aidan chuckled around him. He was well aware of the vibrations he sent down Dean's groin and made an effort to enhance it a little. When he pulled away with a wet sound, it was only to say, "In a minute. Two is a lot, trust me. How are you doing? Are you okay?" He did his best to make the feeling good. His finger nudged at the ring when it pulled out, and stroked the wall when it slipped back in. Aidan felt like he was taking a man's virginity. It spiked something both raw and protective inside him. "How's this feel?" he mused; then, he pressed deep until his digit was in to the knuckle, and crooked his finger back for the bump of his prostate that would make this feel like heaven instead of just pleasant.

"It feels...full," Dean said, after searching for the right words. "Full, and very intimate. Like I'm on the edge of something very important." He shivered a bit as Aidan's finger circled his rim.

He wanted Aidan to know that he was not entering into this lightly, but he felt if talked much more it might ruin the moment. He only caressed Aidan's hair, hoping to convey the warmth he was feeling towards him.

Aidan smiled. He decided there and then he wasn't going to push it that night, but unfortunately his body also made the notion that if he took much longer, his need take things there was going to be a bitch to calm down. His tongue traced the vein along his shaft as he kept sliding the finger in and out. He crooked it once and gauged Dean's reaction. "It is very intimate," he whispered between scattered kisses against a throbbing cock. "If you want, you can try it on me later."

But for now, this stopped being an instruction. Even if he used only one finger, Aidan gave it his best shot to make Dean feel like he was bursting at the seams.

"Oooh, hey," Dean's fingers tightened in Aidan's curls. "W-what was that? What you just did? Can you do it again?"

By the generous trickles of precum Aidan received, it was obvious Dean enjoyed it.

Eager for more, Aidan went through his last motions again. "There," he offered generously. And there. There. There.

Then he stopped. "Hold very still," Aidan said, out of breath. "But relax." He longed to have his tongue lower, but he didn't want to scare Dean away, and he made a mental note to try that another time. As gently as he could, he withdrew the finger to the tip. When it pushed back in, it was accompanied by a second.

"Oh my god," Dean gasped, throwing back his head. "It feels so _good,_ Aidan," his voice, husky with lust, barely sounded like his own. By the time Aidan inserted a second finger, Dean was meeting him eagerly, thrust for thrust, dangerously close to climaxing.

The signs told Aidan all he needed to know. His mouth moved away from Dean's cock long enough to look at the mess he was causing through hooded eyes. Dean was beautiful. With all of his walls down, he looked both vulnerable and indestructible at the same time. Aidan groaned. He pressed Dean's arousal flat against his stomach with his free hand and pushed his tongue solidly against its base. "Imagine one day it'll be me," he whispered, and crooked both digits against the sensitive spot.

"Unnngh," Dean moaned. "I won't be able to stop imagining that, Aidan," he assured him. He was wet with the perspiration of arousal, his cock weeping from Aidan's attentions.

Gone were concerns about being fired, of doing a bad job. Instead there was nothing but Aidan, and how he was making him feel.

"I'm going to come, Aid," he warned. "Soon."

In response, Aidan immediately swallowed down on him and sucked hard. He wanted everything of Dean. This rule he'd established about not going all the way at once was tearing at him; he hadn't before been forced to show restraint of the like, as he'd not tried to withhold it before. He scissored the fingers, felt the familiar contractions around them, and did everything he could to drive his lover insane.

Dean had never been so turned on in his life. Most boys looked back to the first time they'd wanked as some kind of unforgettable awakening. This blew that out of the water. He was awakening—to Aidan.

Reduced to near incoherence and unable—unwilling—to do little more than lay back and let Aidan have his way with him, he writhed and clutched at Aidan's soft hair. He tried hard not to hurt him when as last he came with an out of character half-keen, half-mewl that shook him to the core. 

He swore he might have blacked out for a moment; for one moment Aidan was between his legs and the next curled up on his chest holding him.

When Dean found his voice, he lowered his head to Aidan's curls. "How can I possibly love you this much?" he asked. "How?"

Aidan's eyes were wide and searching, and his heart hammered to a symphony of devotion and fear. For there was no way around it; Aidan feared. He feared that soon, Dean would go back on these words and would end up like every one of the men that Aidan had wanted something more from over the past few years. He didn't want this to be some fling. But he saw no proof of falsehood, no matter how well he looked, and a feeling of happiness finally invaded him.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Can I keep you, Dean? Will you promise me we're going to make this work? Because I want to. You're the best thing that's happened to me in a long time, and I think I'm falling hard."


	8. Dinner and a Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan keeps his date with Richard and does a little undercover work of his own. Dean calls his handler to try to get Aidan put into Witness Protection.

"I have never been with anyone before where I started wondering what life would be like in a year, ten years, fifty years, with that person by my side. Until now," Dean told Aidan, quite truthfully. "I don't know exactly what it means. Maybe I'm just crazy infatuated with you. Maybe I latched onto you because you were the first person in Dublin who was really nice to me. But this," he gestured with his hand to indicate them, naked, in bed, "this is above and beyond nice."

He rubbed the back of Aidan's thigh with his cold foot. "Do I get to do you now?" he asked.

"I hope you're not with me because I'm the first person you met," Aidan smiled with a lightness in his words. He knew that what was going on between them had nothing to do with how they’d met. "I'm curious though. Do you think you would have liked me this way if I went for women? Which I'm, you know, really happy isn't the case." Aidan kissed Dean sweetly, no encouragement intended. "If you want to, I'd really like that. But if it's too much too soon, I can wait. We've got all the time in the world."

"I think I'd still want to hang out with you," Dean admitted. "But if you were straight? I wouldn't have tried anything. It would have made us both uncomfortable, don't you think? I believe I made you uncomfortable enough, early on," he chuckled, recalling some of the boneheaded comments he'd made. "I've come twice, love, and you haven't come at all," he lamented. "You have to at least let me try to even the score," he rolled on top of Aidan, kissing him softly, then more amorously. 

"There's no score, Dean," the reply came, even as Aidan wanted nothing more than for Dean to touch him. "I did it because I love doing it." He probably shouldn't embarrass Dean by telling him how amazing he had looked, lost in the throes of his passion. 

Either way, his body betrayed him. As soon as the kiss picked up intensity, his loins responded and a heat rose under his skin. Full with anticipation, Aidan allowed Dean every bit of access he requested. "You can be a bit rougher with me if you want to," he promised. Aidan loved rough around the edges.

Dean surprised himself by letting out a little growl of approval. "Rough?" he asked. "I'm not sure I could hurt you, Aidan. I can be aggressive though. That I can do. Although I doubt I'll match your skill."

His mouth made its way down Aidan's jaw, to his shoulders, chest, stomach, and settled in the thatch of hair above Aidan's cock. "Can I put a pillow under your hips so I can see better?" he wondered. "Will it make you uncomfortable if I get a good look?" He himself was blushing furiously.

Aidan flushed. "Ah. No, not at all." A bit unexpected though, for Dean to ask for something like that. He shifted and reached for a pillow to hand over, raising his hips off the bed helpfully. The bedsheets crumpled as he moved to look down. "I meant rough as in, you know, you don't have to be too careful. Not rough as in aggressive." Aidan smiled. "Maybe some other time, but not today."

"I'm sure," Dean slid the pillow under Aidan's raised hips, "that my lack of skill will make me seem very rough. And for that, I apologize in advance. Now," he put a hand inside each of Aidan's thighs and pushed them apart, "let's take a look."

He'd looked at his own anatomy in the mirror, of course, but it was awkward. Aidan was a lot hairier than he was...dark, soft curls everywhere. _Everywhere._ He licked his lips. "So, men...do they, I mean...is it okay to put your mouth _there?_ " he wondered.

Aidan suddenly laughed. "Oh, you sound like my doctor. Do whatever you want, Dean. I'm yours. And yes, they sometimes do." He felt suddenly self-conscious. "Uh. I didn't get a chance to shave yet. Sorry."

"Shave there?" Dean wrinkled his nose. "See, I never quite got that. Not when women do it either. I mean, a little shaping and trimming, sure...but why mess with what you have naturally?" He ran his fingers through the hair above and surrounding Aidan's cock, then skirted around to his balls. "It's soft, and," he leaned in and sniffed, "it smells good." He shrugged. "Why mess with a good thing? Hey, as long as I can find what I'm looking for," he nervously ran his finger around Aidan's balls and down his cleft, "which...I have."

It was sweet how Dean kept talking and talking, entirely unsure about himself but never backing out. Aidan could comment that hair got in the way, especially when someone put his mouth there, but he chose not to. There was no point in getting Dean even more nervous than he already was.

He closed his eyes, raised his hips up slightly more, and waited for Dean to take the lead.

Dean wanted so make Aidan feel good, but he wasn't quite sure he was ready to use his mouth there...yet. He wished he hadn't brought it up. With suddenly shaking hands, he picked up the already slippery bottle of lube and squirted some on the first two fingers of his right hand. It was cold, so he rubbed his thumb against them to try to warm it.

"It's cold," he told Aidan. "I'm so sorry."

_Distraction_ he reminded himself, edging his body into the vee of Aidan's spread legs. He grasped Aidan's ridiculously hard cock at the base with his left hand and closed his mouth over the tip, french-kissing it. Salty precome flooded his mouth and he moaned, tentatively circling Aidan's tight opening with his index finger.

The returned attention was more than good. In a response that Aidan couldn't control, he moaned and shifted his legs. It was September outside and the further increased temperature within the room had both of them slick with sweat. When he licked his lips, Aidan tasted salt. He wondered if that was what Dean tasted, too. Too long had his body gone without the proper attention it needed. The finger begged for entrance tentatively and suddenly Aidan needed it inside of him more than life. It didn't go as fast as he wanted and he breathed, "Oh god, Dean. Please. Put it in me. _Anything_. I need it so much!"

Dean gently slipped the finger past the tight ring of Aidan's rectal muscles, surprised by the resistance he received. Another inch or so and he was feeling Aidan's inner walls, which weren't as smooth as he'd thought they might be. He reveled in the new sensations and looked down, realizing his entire finger was buried to the knuckle. Mouth back on Aidan's dick, he twisted his finger slowly to the side and around, feeling for that spot.

When he found it, it felt like a small doughnut buried right below Aidan's skin—or a gummi Lifesaver. He rubbed it gently, then a bit harder.

The surprise was evident. "Wh—?" Aidan started. He had jerked up and now supported himself like a wreck on his elbows, his eyes big. "You liar. You've done this before!"

But Dean's denial to stop soon had his head falling back, his feet scrambling for purchase, and his mouth soliciting the most wanton of sounds.

"Aidan, _no,_ " Dean immediately denied. "I haven't, I swear. I'm just—just doing what you showed me." 

When Aidan didn't protest again, Dean lowered his mouth back onto his dick, hard as a diamond and practically weeping precome. He wondered when it would be good to add a second finger. Based on Aidan's mewling and writhing, he was thinking soon. Now, in fact. 

So he did, and then a third. He paid attention to that little nub, but not quite enough to make Aidan come right away. Right away would spoil the fun. He kept him on edge for fifteen minutes. And Aidan was a sweaty, wanton mess. I loved the sight of him—a sight he wanted to see every night.

When he did finally allow Aidan to come, the brunet arched off the bed so hard that he painted Dean—and the comforter—with his release.

"Holy shit, Aid," Dean caressed him through the aftershocks. "Holy fucking shit."

"You fucking tease!" gasped Aidan with his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. His hair was matted to his face, his skin glistening, and his breath still hard. "You incredible, fucking tease." As soon as Dean came within reach, he kissed him hard and cared not for soiling him with his own milky come. "That was unbelievable. I mean...fuck, Dean. How did that happen? _Did_ that really happen?"

"Uh huh," Dean nodded, smoothing Aidan's sweaty locks from his cheeks. "I'll have the carpal tunnel syndrome to prove it," he joked. "And you are a filthy mess. We both are. Good thing I have the best shower in the world."

Dean was quiet for a moment. "So, I guess it's safe to say you enjoyed that? Because I did. I could die right now and be the happiest person on the planet," he admitted. 

And it scared him, it really did. He had to call Adam and tell him that the CIA was barking up the wrong tree with Aidan. Now more than ever, he knew he had to protect what he'd been lucky enough to be gifted with—Aidan, his love, and trust.

"Let's just lie here." Aidan was blissfully unaware of Dean's inner resolutions. Lost in his haze, he rolled onto his side to both give him some space and look at him with the most infatuated eyes. "Where did you come from?" he wondered, more to himself. He'd just been given a handjob of a pretty much advanced level. If this was one of Dean's first times doing it, or the actual first if Aidan had to go by his word, then it wouldn't be long before the student became better than the master. And oh, he wanted that. "I wasn't even looking, but here you are." Aidan knew they had to get back to the shower soon. But he didn't want to. There was something painfully honest about lying there, looking his most unflattering, and for it to be beautiful.

"Believe me when I tell you I wasn't looking either. It's the _last_ thing I was doing," he assured Aidan, burrowing into his neck and kissing him there softly. "When I want to learn to do something, there is no stopping me. I wanted to make you feel good. You taught me well, and I am a very quick study. Always have been. I wonder what you might teach me next?"

"I know what I want to teach you," Aidan spoke his unadultered thoughts aloud. "But I wonder if, if that's how fast you learn, I should prepare myself instead of the other way around." He grinned with a face stupid with lust and unvoiced infatuation, and had no trouble baring his neck and closing his eyes to offer Dean more of the space he was kissing. Small sounds tried to encourage Dean further, while the whine was instead nearly childish. "I don't want to get up."

"So don't," Dean whispered in his ear, then closed his mouth on the skin below it, wrapping one leg around his friend. "We have nowhere to be. Not until tomorrow, right?"

"Will be over before we know it." Aidan was resolute about that. "And then I'll return here and we've got all evening, too. Monday is going to be hard. Ah. Do that again."

Dean chuckled warmly and reattached his mouth a few centimeters lower. Aidan would definitely have a hickey tomorrow. He hoped Richard saw it.

"Aidan?" Dean asked finally. "What we're doing. Are we...are we going too fast?"

Aidan opened his eyes at that. "...The pace feels just right," he said quietly after giving it a thought, "But if you think we're going too fast, we can go slower. I'm cool with whatever pace you set, as long as it's not a discontinuation."

Distracted, he only half registered the suction against his skin, and encouraged Dean for more by digging his fingertips into the skin on his sides.

"Do _you_ think we're going too fast?"

"I'm happy with everything that's happening. Totally on board for all of it, and more," Dean assured him, playing with one of Aidan's nipples. "I just don't want you to think—" he paused. "Uh, I don't want you to think that I just leap into bed this quickly with just anyone. I don't. I never have, actually. I feel out of control, honestly," he admitted. "I've felt that way since the day I stumbled into your lab," he told Aidan, leaning forward to claim his lips.

Aidan didn't think. As soon as he was offered the chance to speak—and the willingness, which came much later—he looked up darkly at Dean and spoke in a hushed voice, "I want you." Not necessarily immediately, though his body was quickly betraying his earlier assumption that he'd been spent and couldn't go further. Aidan wanted him wholly. He wanted to keep him, have him in any which way possible, and he wanted it to be real. He wanted to take him to see his parents. Meet his friends. He wanted to share the world with him.

"Be with me tomorrow," the tone in his voice became begging when reality caught up with him. "I don't want to face him. He scares the hell out of me. Just...please be around."

"I'll stay as close as I can without being seen," Dean promised. "I don't want to put you in danger by having Richard know that you know what he did tonight. If you seem scared, he'll know. You'll have to be brave. _Act,_ " he explained. "Are you going to be able to do it?"

"I'm not an actor." Eyes looked up at Dean pleadingly. "I'll just have to sit through the show. Maybe after that I can come up with some excuse to go early. Maybe you can call me?"

"Whatever it takes," Dean said solemnly. "I don't want you spending time with him."

He'd felt that way before, but now his jealousy had morphed into protectiveness. "I don't know what his intentions are. Maybe he really does want you—romantically—and has chosen a very poor way to show it. Whatever the case, you go, you see the show, and you come home. Tell him you're not feeling well, or I can call and pretend to be your supervisor, tell you there's something urgent at the lab you need to take care of," Dean suggested, caressing Aidan's chest lovingly in an attempt to calm him. "You don't have to act. Just be your sweet self."

That was exactly what Aidan did not want to do, but he nodded anyway and smiled.

\- - - - -

The next morning came too soon. As soon as Aidan woke up, the encounter was all he could think about. There were several brief intermezzo's for a smile whenever he thought of Dean and him, or just Dean and the way he moved, but eventually he couldn't ignore it any longer. It was time to go.

"I'm going to drive you and drop you off about a block from the theater. I'll pull up the block and park close enough to see. Richard's never seen my car, so he probably won't recognize it, or me," Dean told Aidan over a heated up lunch of—not surprisingly—leftover chicken pot pie.

What Dean wasn't telling Aidan was that he'd pinned a tiny, almost imperceptible microphone inside the breast pocket of Aidan's shirt while Aidan was showering. It was invisible from the outside and so lightweight and small that Aidan probably wouldn't find it. Dean would be able to overhear their conversations and intercede if necessary.

"I'll stay close," Dean promised him. "And I'll wait right around the corner from the theater to take you home when you get out. Do _not,_ under any circumstances, get into a vehicle with Richard," he cautioned. 

"Right," said Aidan with increasing worry. He had vowed to himself to pretend nothing was wrong and had been telling himself all morning not to be afraid, that it was just Richard, and they were just going to the theater. The fact remained that Richard had threatened his cousin. Aidan hadn't begun to think of how to help Orlando with Richard aware of him and his home lab destroyed.

He remained quiet when they got into the car. When they reached the theater, Aidan didn't want to get out.

"What if he's a maniac?" he asked, upset.

This wasn't going to do at all if he meant to convince Richard everything was fine.

Dean reached over and took Aidan's hand in his own. He raised it to his lips and kissed it.

"He won't hurt you, Aidan. If anything, he's investigating you. Harming you won't further his agenda." Dean caressed Aidan's face to calm him. "You have your phone. If anything goes south, call me right away. I'll be in the parking lot across the street, reading a book. Okay?"

Aidan nodded. "And if I call you and I don't talk, you get over there right away. Deal?"

He leaned in for a kiss, but it didn't calm Aidan down. He knew it was time to get out of the car. Squeezing Dean's hand a final time, he moved away. He should have bought himself a taser gun or something.

It was a relief that Richard was already there when he walked up to the entrance. At least that meant he couldn't sneak up on him.

"Hey," Aidan said shakily, and berated himself at once.

Dean could see the pair well from his car, but Richard didn't appear to have noticed Aidan getting out of the vehicle. Richard looked for all the world like a hot literature professor today more than usual. A green cardigan and glasses—fucking glasses!—completed the look.

Dean turned on the Bluetooth receiver in his ear and could hear everything. Still he dreaded the moment they went inside and out of sight.

"Aidan," Richard smiled happily at the younger man's approach. "Nice to see you." He reached out his arms to embrace his co-worker.

Aidan awkwardly returned it. He scowled when Richard wasn't watching. Right now, Aidan didn't convince anyone. With more dedication he grinned into the embrace, "And you. You dressed up for today, didn't you? Should I be flattered?"

Great. Aidan hadn't realized until the words came out how flirtatious that sounded. Well, at least it wasn't new between them, even if Aidan wasn't in the least interested in him that way. "Come on," he smiled up at him. This was the fucker who had threatened his friend. He deserved dishonesty. "Let's get us some drinks."

"It's only a sweater," Richard chuckled. "I suppose you might consider it dressing up...for a librarians' convention. A drink sounds great, yeah," he admitted, putting his hand against the small of Aidan's back and ushering him inside.

Having Aidan out of his sight was painful for Dean, but he could still hear just fine. He heard Richard ordering a Merlot for himself and a white wine for Aidan.

"I've been meaning to say something to you," Richard appraised Aidan's face as he handed over his glass. "The past week or so you'd been looking very tired, like you weren't resting enough. But today, well, I don't know. It's like you're better rested or something."

Aidan donned a heartfelt smile this time around, one which Dean couldn't see from where he was, but which was nonetheless audible in his voice. "That's because I've slept both hardly at all and like a log this weekend." He took a sip and sat back. Around them, people were filing in for the show. As the seating was fixed, he didn't feel the rush to hurry. "Was that what you wanted to talk to me about?"

A librarian convention, Aidan thought. What a travesty, coming from a man bringing a syringe into an addict's house.

Richard's face showed he was warring with something, but what came out of his mouth was, "Ah, not yet. After the show." He shrugged. "It might be too heavy for pre-show conversation. What did _you_ want to tell me?"

Aidan's smile dropped. His act was, he thought, convincing when he looked away for effect and chewed on his lip. Richard had told his cousin that Dean was responsible for the threat. Maybe, if he played his cards right, he could find out something on the side.

"Things kind of...changed. It was great news when we spoke, but things happened in the mean time and changed. I—" he made his voice up with hurt. It surprised Aidan how well that was going. "I thought I was seeing someone. But I'm not."

In the car, Dean tensed up. _Aidan, what are you doing?_

"You don't say?" Richard seemed more than genuinely interested. "I was so certain that you and Dean might end up together. I assume that's who you're talking about, right? Not as compatible as you suspected?"

"He visited a friend of mine," Aidan gnawed. "He threatened his life and was asking questions about me." He was unaware that Dean was listening in, and while he would have dreaded finding out that Dean did, he kept his charade going. "Trust me when I say I'm definitely through with dating co-workers for some time to come. You couldn't have picked a better timing for seeing this show. It'll be a good distraction." Aidan followed a happy couple passing them by and pretended to shake it off. "But look at me, ruining the day. Listen, he doesn't know I told you, so I'd appreciate you not treating him any different. Okay?"

"Oh, Aidan," Richard sighed. "I'm so sorry. I know I haven't always had the kindest feelings towards Dean—and it was all jealousy-based, you understand—but he doesn't seem like the type of guy who'd do something like that." He rubbed Aidan's upper arm consolingly. "It's a shame, though, that you're letting his actions poison you against dating _any_ co-workers. Truth is, what I wanted to tell you today was that—" he stopped, and looked away. "Well, it's irrelevant now."

In the car, Dean was shaking. _Aidan, no!_ he seethed. He'd wanted Aidan to tell Richard they were involved, if only to shift Richard's angry attention off of Aidan and onto Dean. This was certainly not going to do that. _Dammit, Aidan! You are not a spy._ He sighed _Be careful._

But Aidan felt what Richard was going to say with mounting dread. It was the exact opposite from where he'd wanted to steer them towards. "You're seeing someone?" he asked with blunt enthusiasm. "I mean, that would definitely be great news. Who's the lucky guy? Don't tell me it's someone from the marketing department. Is it?"

It might be a bit callous, but it would get rid of the awkward tension between them, Aidan reckoned.

"It'd be a lot easier if it were," Richard lamented, easily picking up on Aidan's feelings on the matter. "Look, it's not important. Why don't we head in? Show's starting in a few minutes," he held out his hand for Aidan's empty wine glass and returned them both to the bartender. "Maybe after, we can talk more?"

"You're seeing someone who's difficult?" Aidan continued with his pointed comments, before he got up and looked around for the entrance to the main theater from the lobby. He waited for Richard and then walked towards it. "You've got the tickets, right?" He nudged him. "You do make me curious."

But Aidan wanted nothing less than to be out of there, Dean waiting for him. He took his chance when Richard turned around to send him a quick "Still alive" and smiled up at Richard innocently after. "Can't wait for the show to start! I read up on it. It's got some great reviews."

"Oh, yes, of course," Richard answered him after they turned in their tickets and were ushered to their seats. "It's Abba. Can't go wrong with Abba."

When they were seated, he turned to Aidan. "I'm not seeing anyone," he told him. "I admire your enthusiasm and the way you're trying to deflect, but I know you know I find you attractive, Aidan. I have since we met. It's been hard seeing you with Dean. He's much closer to your age than I am, and certainly more attractive. But I only have eyes for you, as the song goes. I had kind of hoped you might give me a shot. If only for—you know—fun."

Aidan couldn't reply, as the show started at precisely that moment.

In the dark of the theater, Aidan cursed himself. He should have known. He should have. He was aptly aware of every motion coming from Richard's side of his line of sight. What had he gotten himself into? This man, a clear threat to his safety as he'd demonstrated through the threat delivered to Orlando, was playing at romance now. And while Aidan knew that it was the furthest thing from what he wanted, he could not tell him so now.

How would he tell it without causing suspicion anyway? Up until a few days ago, he wouldn't have minded an adventure or two with this man. And now he terrified him.

So Aidan sat mute throughout the first act with shaky hands and prayed Richard wouldn't do anything stupid.

When intermission came and the lights went up, Richard turned to Aidan. "I can practically feel fear coming off you in waves, Aidan. What do you think I'm going to do? Molest you in a crowded theater? I wouldn't do that, even if we were alone in the dark," he told him. "I'm sorry I told you," he said quietly, blue eyes downcast. "It was foolish to think you'd consider me anything less than a pervy old fag." He jerked his head towards the back of the theater. "If you want to leave, I certainly understand."

Though it was an obvious mind trick, Aidan could not resist his natural urge to avoid conflict of he could help it. That, mixed with guilt, moved him to sigh and say, "You're not a pervy old fag. Trust me, a couple of days ago I would have jumped at the chance. But my mind isn't set on it right now. Otherwise, being molested in a theater would have sounded like great fun." 

With Dean. Aidan did not enclose that. 

He chuckled, ignoring the looks an old lady with her grandchildren was giving them, as their conversation was hardly quiet. Obnoxiously, he smiled at them and they turned their heads with indignation. "Let's just watch this, okay?"

It was so easy to forget what Richard had done.

Listening in, Dean inhaled deeply through his nose and out through his mouth a few times to calm himself.

_Aidan, please,_ he begged silently, _don't let your guard down. Be smart. I love you._

Even though he hadn't spoken aloud, he clapped his hand over his own mouth anyway.

_I love him._

He couldn't stop smiling.

Aidan smiled with more ease as soon as the lights went off again. This wouldn't be such a difficult day after all. If he could keep up pretenses, he could maybe even avoid awkwardness at work the next day. He enjoyed the second act without distractions, and when the musical was over, he immediately grinned, "That was really nice. Thanks for taking me."

"I'm glad you took a chance and decided to come with me," Richard told him. "And I'm sorry if what I confessed makes you uncomfortable. It was supposed to have the completely opposite effect, I swear."

Aidan laughed. He couldn't help it. "No doubt it did." As they stepped out, he took a moment to close his eyes and take in the warm comfort of the sun, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He'd made it out alive. Already he felt physically eager to leave for Dean, but he figured they were still going for food. And Richard knew he stood no chance. So, as long as he didn't have to get into anyone's car, he was fine.

"Where are we going to eat?" he wondered.

Dean suddenly sat forward. "Aidan, no!" This he _did_ say out loud. _God dammit!_ he slapped the steering wheel.

"There a nice place around the corner. Italian," Richard suggested. "Best chicken cannelloni I have ever tasted," he told the younger man. "Does it appeal? We can get a bottle wine, catch a nice buzz..." he reached over and brushed a stray curl out of Aidan's face.

From his vantage point in the car, Dean was fuming.

But Aidan pulled back himself and said, uncomfortably, "The food sounds fine, as does the company. But please don't, Rich. It's been a rough couple of days. Give me some space."

Richard nodded. "Fair enough. All right, then. C'mon, Mama Lucia's awaits," he led Aidan down to the end of the block and turned a corner. 

Dean wasn't as worried as he would have been if he hadn't placed a bug on Aidan, but at the same time he was wondering what had happened to the anger and terror Aidan had been feeling towards Richard the night before. Dean's hands were shaking. He dialed the phone and waited for Adam to pick up.

"Sup?" said Adam uncharacteristically light around a spoonful of macaroni when he replied, just as Aidan walked out of sight, "You caught me during dinner, but shoot. What can I do for you?" On the background sounded the noise of colleagues, not of family or friends. Adam was working late, then.

Meanwhile, Aidan followed Richard into a cozy-looking little Italian restaurant and picked out the table closest to the window. The least romantic spot.

"Adam," Dean's voice was low, "I need to talk to you. Not about work. Well, it _is_ about work, but it's personal. I need you help with something. Are we being listened to?"

"Nope," said Adam, "But hang on." He audibly got up from his seat, walked away from the crowd behind him, and found an empty conference room. "So, what's up? You don't usually ask me about personal things. Is everything all right? "

"Adam," Dean took a deep breath. "I'm in love with the man I was brought here to investigate."

That confessed, he found it easier to continue. "He's not the creator of Milk. I found that out last night. He's also not selling it. However, he's synthesized his own version. He's doing it for a cousin who's trying to wean off it. I think, with the right funding and the right conditions and support, this guy would be able to single-handedly find the answer to our number one problem. He's halfway to creating a substitute for Milk that could help addicts get off it."

Dean felt something tickling his chin and realized it was tears. "Problem is, the KGB agent that's been following him around, he knows about Aidan too. In fact, Aidan's with him right now. Adam, I am barely holding it together. I am _not_ compromised. At least, my cover's not. And I still have my head on straight, despite how all this must sound to you. I wonder...what are our chances of getting this guy into protective custody, putting him to work on his project? This could be for Milk what Methadone was for Heroin, Adam."

He paused, breathless. Meanwhile, Adam was ominously silent.

"I need you not to throw me under the bus here. We're friends, Adam. I want to see this through, and I want Aidan to be safe. Can you help?"

There was a long silence. Then, "Jesus Christ, Dean. You fell for him? For your own mark? You know the rules about that. If they find out, you'll be replaced. Isn't he a _guy_?" As far as Adam knew, Dean was great with women, but when he'd been put on this project to get close to a man, he'd had his doubts. "You're one hundred percent sure? You could get this man willingly into a professional interrogation and he would survive? He's a suspect, and one of our only leads so far. I don't think they'll be very happy if we kill that lead by offering him a job. And what do you mean, you're barely holding it together? Shit, Dean, this is big!"

"I expected you to be upset, Adam. I know it's only because you have my best interest at heart. Yes, he's a guy, and yes, I'm sure," he sighed. "I'm very sure. I have never been more sure."

He lay his head down against the steering wheel. "I'm telling you all this in case things get crazy here. I think this Richard character is unstable. He attacked Aidan's cousin last night—the one he's synthesizing for—and threatened to kill him. Aidan or I could be next. If the shit comes down, I want someone to know all this. Someone I trust. Aidan's no criminal, and he has no knowledge of Milk's inventor or anyone who's distributing it. It's his research that's caught the notice of the agencies. Obviously he's had to purchase materials. It flagged him. If only you could meet him, Adam," Dean pleaded, "you'd know right away he's innocent.”

"I need a friend here. I needed to hear a friendly voice—yours," he told him. "I might go silent for a bit. I just wanted to let you know what's going on here. I don't want anything to happen to him. He's not our guy."

Adam took a deep breath and let it sink in. At last he said, "This is crazy. Do you at least have any other leads we can pursue? I know how you must feel," apart from it being a man, "but you have to understand your judgment is clouded now. If you want me to suggest someone else for the case..."

Faintly on the background sounded amused laughter from the conversation between Aidan and Richard.

"As far as leads, no. I have nothing. I was sent to check out Aidan. While his actions could be construed at suspicious, he's no drug kingpin. He's altruistic to a fault," he smiled fondly. "The only thing of slight interest he's offered me is that _unusual and interesting things_ go on in the basement labs at ChemTrex. It's not much to go on, of course. I'm sorry for that. But I did what I came here to do. Now I want to request safety for Aidan."

He tried to tune out the conversation in his other ear. It was far too chummy for his liking, so he took out the Bluetooth and put it in his lap.

"I don't need to be replaced. I need extradition for Aidan," he told Adam. "And, if possible, I'd like to be part of that process."

"How?"

Dean could tell by the intercontinental sound of Adam's voice that he was tired. This new piece of information only made it worse. "How do you want to be part of that? Have you got a plan? And if he's with Armitage, should you really be calling me?"

"I," and here Dean paused. "I'd have to tell him who I am and what I do. I could help make his transition easier. This guy's talents are wasted at ChemTrex. He's going to solve the Milk epidemic, Adam!" Dean cried. "God, I sound insane," he admitted. "I wouldn't trust me either. I just wanted you to know what's going on. And you're right. I need to get back to the task at hand. Nice talking with you, Adam. Please, do what you can to help?"

And he hung up, placing the Bluetooth back in his ear.

As he returned to the conversation, Aidan was just telling Richard about something that happened in high school. He laughed amicably as he recounted something from his physics class, occasionally stopping to get a bite from his pizza in. All in all, they seemed at ease in their current talk.

Aidan's phone buzzed and suspended their talk. He looked at the dial, then cursed. "Shit. It's that time already." He threw Richard an apologetic smile. "This is going to sound really stupid, but I promised to take care of the neighbor's cat for a while and I'm supposed to pick him up in half an hour."

Richard's forehead wrinkled suspiciously, but only momentarily, "Ah, of course. The old 'cat sitting' excuse," he chuckled. "I had fun today, Aidan. I hope you'll consider doing this again with me sometime. As friends, of course," he solidified, pulling out his wallet. "I enjoy our time together."

_I'll bet you do,_ Dean said to himself, starting the car, awaiting Aidan's arrival. He was tempted to drive around the block to pick him up, but didn't want to be spotted.

"Can I walk you home?" Richard asked.

Aidan frowned at the excuse. He had planned that all by himself, no intervention from Dean necessary, and had actually texted his neighbor, a female student who had tried to get him to go out with her a few times before becoming comfortable acquaintances. She would play along if need be. 

"Actually, I'm just going to pick him up and take him to a friend's. There's repairs going on in my apartment at six in the morning, so I'm not staying there. Might be why I slept so well," he said as an afterthought. "Besides, I don't want to be home if Dean shows up..."

Which was his own elaborate way of saying _no thanks._ Aidan offered the excuse with an apologetic smile. "You can walk me to the line?" he offered instead. "Are you really okay with paying for everything?"

"It's only a pizza and some wine Aidan," Richard told him, pulling some bills from his wallet. "I can afford it. I work at ChemTrex, after all," he smiled. "You'd best get going...don't want poor kitty to be lonely. I'll see you tomorrow."

After Aidan said his goodbyes and left and Richard had paid their bill, the Brit went out into the street and around the corner to the front of the theater. But Aidan was long gone.

Dean kissed Aidan softly on the cheek as he got into the car. "You are spy material, Turner," he told him, then grew serious, "but don't you ever get all rogue and creative like that again! I was terrified!" 

"What did I do?" Aidan grinned as he drew Dean close and kissed him hard. People passing them by looked at them as if they were a couple in a car rendezvous that should be happening on the outskirts of town, if anywhere—not out in the open like this. He wasn't aware of the wire on him and chuckled, "You followed me into the theater?"

_Shit, shit._

"You were gone way longer than the show was supposed to run," Dean looked solemn. You went to dinner with him? I can taste the garlic and wine on your breath. So much for being scared of him," Dean pouted. "Mr. Cautious." He shook his head in wonderment. "How did it go?"

Aidan sat back in his seat. Finally the tension seeped out of him, and with a sigh of relief he grinned, "Surprisingly well. No death threats, thank god for that. I kind of had to lie about you and me, because he'd expect me to detest you after what he did, giving Lando your name. So he expects us to avoid each other tomorrow. Apparently," he looked over at Dean, pulling a face, "he saw that as a chance to tell me he liked me. But he doesn't stand a chance. I've made my choice, and I'm damn happy with it. Is it weird if I want to take you out for food tonight?"

Dean didn't have the heart to tell Aidan that, due to the cameras, Richard probably already knew about their relationship. He didn't want to scare him.

"I think I can avoid you tomorrow," Dean told him. "But you _will_ have to make it up to me tonight, to help me prepare for the solitude. But how about we wait for food until you're actually hungry?"

He put a warm hand on Aidan's thigh as they drove out of the parking lot. 

From his position obscured under the theater marquis, Richard saw them go and chuckled, shaking his head. "I knew you'd be lurking around here somewhere, Dean," he said aloud.


	9. Extradition and Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigation in Dublin draws to a close. Adam decides Dean's fate.

Monday turned out to be awkward. 

Aidan kept wondering if Dean would drop by the lab, which he didn't. At lunch he looked around to see if he spied him anywhere; he found himself forced to sit with Richard in the end. It was like Dean didn't exist, if not for the text messages that passed back and forth between them freely, and the kisses the moment they saw each other again at Dean's place after work.

By Wednesday, Aidan had decided they needed to 'reconcile' at work. He had concocted a pathetic excuse that unfortunately painted him as gullible and Dean a smooth talker, but at least it got rid of the necessity to avoid each other. It had the more pleasant side effect that Aidan could finally tell Richard that he hoped things would get better between them, further eradicating Richard's chances and improving Aidan's comfort.

Outside Aidan's knowledge, a phone call came for Dean that Saturday from Adam. They had a new lead, one that looked promising.

"That's wonderful news, Adam," Dean told him, "especially if it takes the heat off poor Aidan. Have you had any luck researching the possibility of getting him some protection—or better yet, funding for his research?"

Adam had no idea how badly Dean just wanted to confess everything to Aidan, to tell him the truth and throw himself on Aidan's mercies. But he was also terrified to lose him. 

"Ah, I might have something," Adam leafed through some folders. "There's a facility in California that works on Milk, and they've got a sister lab in Toronto. But I have to be honest with you, Dean. He's still a suspect. That levels his chances pretty much." He paused on the other side of the line. When he spoke again, his voice was more careful. "You know what happens when we find the ones responsible, don't you?"

Dean knew.

"There has to be a way I can keep him in my life, Adam. You _know_ me. I don't just fall in love. I have never, really, been in love. This guy...I just can't explain it. He's _consumed_ me. I'm not sure I could just say goodbye. I don't want to lose him," Dean sounded desperate. "Please, try to stop that from happening. I can't come back to... nothing."

Dean's sadness and worry followed him in the following days like a dark cloud, dampening moments with Aidan that should have been pleasurable. He tried to explain it off to Aidan as latent homesickness and missing his family, which wasn't a complete lie.

He filed an official report about his findings with Aidan, and recommended him for placement into witness protection due to the confrontation with Richard and Richard's proximity to Aidan. He also mentioned the possibility of the clinics in California and Toronto in the report.

He wondered if Richard was having any luck finding the actual manufacturer of Milk, or if they were both hopelessly barking up the wrong tree in the wrong country.

Aidan did his best to cheer Dean up, but he didn't always succeed. Those were the most difficult times. He still refused to return to his own apartment, afraid of what he might find if he did, and he did his best to make his stay at Dean's place comfortable for Dean too. That was, at least, part of the problem. So on Thursday afternoon in the next week, he sat himself down next to Dean's desk at work, looked around for anyone eavesdropping, and said, "I go out for dinner with mum and dad once a month. Would you, er, like to come?"

"You want me to meet your parents?" Dean's eyes grew a little moist. "I...wow, Aidan. That's big. Are you sure?" He reached out to put his hand over Aidan's. When he did, his shirt sleeve slipped up to reveal a bruise on his forearm in the distinct shape of a hand. Dean reached out to slide his sleeve back down. "I'd love to meet your parents, Aidan," he told him, hoping to distract him from the injury. "Will they like me?"

"Of course they'll like you. I wouldn't ask you otherwise." The bruise was noticed though. Aidan's next words were quieter. "I thought it might do you good. Since your own parents are so far away," until, "Dean, what's that on your arm?"

"I just had a little run-in with Richard," Dean told him, blue eyes locked with Aidan's. "Nothing you need to worry about. I held my own," he assured him.

Aidan stared at his hand. "Nothing I need to worry about?" Oh, he was worried all right. "What happened? Tell me what happened." Maybe there would be reason enough to get Richard fired. Or maybe Aidan just wanted to know everything was fine. "Is this the first time since he went to Lando?"

"It's really okay, Aidan. I took some martial arts courses back in the States. He's not going to hurt me," Dean assured him. "I promise. It was my fault. I tried to avoid him, but we ran into one another in the bathroom. We had some words and he grabbed my arm to make a point. He was trying to scare me. He didn't. End of story."

Aidan groaned. "Oh god. We need to get out of here, Dean. One of these days, it'll be worse than that. I don't trust him. What if he finds out I sleep at your place? He hasn't visited Lando again, but what's to say he won't go there?" In his eyes projected fear. "I'll look for job openings tonight. Anything to get out of here. Are you sure you're okay?"

Ignoring work regulations, Aidan kissed him. It made him feel much better.

"Have you seen my apartment, Aidan?" Dean smiled, lips tingling from the kiss. "It's got a keypad with a 10-digit entry code," Dean reminded him. "No one but you and me are getting inside. I promise you that."

Never had he felt the urge to tell Aidan who he was more strongly. "Hey," he got up and shut his office door. Now no one could see them through the opaque glass. Dean locked the door. "We're okay. I'll take care of you, Aidan," he promised, soothing Aidan with his hands on his face, his flanks, his hips. Wrapping his arms around Aidan at last, he held him tightly. "Is it okay if I tell you that I love you?"

Inquisitive eyes looked back at him. It took a moment before the other responded, painstaking seconds, but then his face lit up. "Yes," he grinned. "More than okay. Really bad timing, actually, but god, yes. I think I do too. Love you, I mean. Damn you, O'Gorman, now you really make me want to show you to my family." He looked up at Dean and kissed him again promptly.

If anyone walked in right now, it'd be the end of their jobs, but he just didn't care. Aidan leaned in and whispered in Dean's ear, "Imagine all the things I'm gonna do to you tonight."

"Why wait?" Dean smiled. "Door's locked. We just need to be quiet."

At Aidan's dubious look, Dean cajoled. "Oh, c'mon, it'd _really_ brighten my day." He snaked his hand towards Aidan's fly, eyebrows raised.

Aidan looked out at the large glass windows. Nobody would see any details, but if they made the same suggestive movements continuously, their co-workers would still know. Despite what most of his bed partners assumed, Aidan was actually fairly traditional when it came to places to have sex. He'd never join the mile high club, and he didn't get off on maybe getting caught. Then again, he told himself, maybe it was time to stop being such a prude.

"Blowjob," he bargained.

"Of course," Dean smiled, caressing his crotch. "When we make love, it'll be in bed. With candles burning. Away from the potential prying eyes of others."

He knelt and undid Aidan's belt and pulled down his fly. "But for now...a quick and dirty blowjob it shall be."

\- - - - 

Later that afternoon, Richard came by Dean's office, entering and partially shutting the door before Dean saw him coming.

Dean sighed. "Now what? Come to assert your manliness again, or do you actually have something useful for me?"

"I thought you'd like to know," Richard leaned casually against the door frame, "I'll be gone from Dublin by the weekend. You know as well as I do that Aidan's got little or nothing to do with the actual production of Milk, and—as delightful a distraction as he is—we both have to move on."

"What's your point?" Dean stood and crossed his arms, trying his best to seem disinterested. "You have a lead to share with me?"

Richard snorted. "Hardly something I'd share with you, O'Gorman. But," he leaned forward and caressed Dean's jawbone with one finger, "my offer still stands. A little goodbye no-fault sex? Fuck him out of both our minds? I think it's a worthwhile endeavor." The Brit's blue eyes were dark with lust. "Who knows when we might see one another again?"

Dean backed against his desk, clearly uncomfortable. "You need to leave, Richard," he told the bigger man. 

"Actually, no, I don't," Richard tilted his head. "I work very independently. No one cares where I go or who I'm with," his voice grew low and his motions predatory as he sniffed along Dean's neck. "I'd really like to know what all the fuss is about."

Dean reached behind him, fingers closing on a letter opener.

Aidan packed up his belongings for the day. He had started early and his work was done, so he thought he'd drop by Dean and bother him for the last half an hour before heading home. Or _Dean's place_. Oh, who was he kidding? _Home_. His backpack slung over his shoulders, he still buzzed from the very much forbidden office blowjob he'd received not too long earlier—his lab mate had seen through his excuses at once and congratulated him, though she'd kept pestering him about revealing a name afterward—as he rounded the corner and peeking in the door to Dean's office.

What he saw chilled him at once. What was worse was that it seemed like they hadn't noticed him. Aidan stared at them. His mouth moved; no words came out. He wasn't sure what this was, but his heart was ridiculously close to shattering.

Then, Aidan noticed Dean's white knuckled grip on the letter opener as he slowly brought his hand around towards Richard.

"Get out, Richard," Dean said, voice cold. "Neither of us can afford to make a scene here." 

Dean felt Aidan's presence before he saw him. When he caught a glimpse of Aidan's terrified face, his own concerns were forgotten. He put the letter opener back down carefully.

Richard followed Dean's gaze and took a step away from Dean. "Aidan," he smiled. "I was just having a little chat with Dean about accosting your cousin."

Dean's eyes locked with Aidan's for a moment and he shook his head, almost imperceptively. 

Aidan ignored it.

Something snapped.

"Get the fuck out," he said slowly, prowling closer to the both of them. The door creaked behind him. It wasn't Dean he walked up to though. Aidan stopped before Richard and threw him the vilest look he had to offer. The temperature cooled between them when he hissed, "I know it was you. You should have sent one of your guys, Richard. I showed him Dean's picture and he said it wasn't him. How _dare_ you? I don't know what your business with me is and look, I tried to stay out of your way, but that's over. If you hurt another person I love, you'll be dealing with me."

Richard turned to look at Dean, who shrugged. "You heard the man, Armitage," he said, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice, "go."

Without another word, Richard wisely left the room, closing the door behind him.

Dean sat down weakly on the edge of his desk. "You have the best timing ever," he told Aidan, swiping a shaking hand over his face. "Fuck." 

But Aidan turned on Dean. Things didn't add up. Richard would never do this at work. There was too much at stake here, in this office. "What did he want?" he wanted to know. "He knows you didn't go to Lando. So what did he want from you?"

You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Dean said quietly, hoping that would be enough. 

It wasn't. Aidan continued to practically glare at him.

" _Me,_ Aidan," Dean told him. "He wanted me. He's been pestering me for days. He won't be our problem for much longer, though. He told me he won't be back here at ChemTrex next week. I guess whoever he works for has reassigned him."

When Aidan still didn't appear to defrost, Dean pushed his chair towards Aidan with his foot. "Can you sit?" he asked I need to tell you something impor-" 

They were interrupted by a knock. "Emergency meeting in Larson's office in two minutes, O'Gorman!" a woman's voice called. "Bring your notebook!"

Dean sighed. "We need to talk," he said softly, gathering up his materials. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. See you at home?"

"You?" Aidan frowned. "Why? What does he want with you?" It didn't make sense. Richard wanted to get to Dean for what? Unless...unless it had always been about Dean. What if Richard had threatened his friend to get at Dean, and not him? Gears were shifting in Aidan's head just as they were interrupted.

"What about?" he asked with much less confidence. He eyed Dean's colleague, trying not to give too much details to the world. "We're cool, right?"

“We’re very cool,” Dean assured him. After his co-worker had moved past the door, Dean gave Aidan a soft kiss on the cheek. “I might be in this meeting awhile. See you at home?”

When Dean reached for his belongings, Aidan sat down wobbly on a chair. Suddenly his life felt like a house of cards meticulously stacked, not firmly cemented like he'd always assumed. All it took was one little push. "Yeah," he muttered. "See you at home."

Suddenly having Richard out of their lives wasn't as important anymore. He just wanted to know what the fuck was going on.

Dean, worried about the look on Aidan’s face, leaned over and kiss Aidan's forehead. "I love you," he said, caressing Aidan's cheekbone with his thumb. His hand was shaking. "You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I am going to meet your parents," he kissed his forehead again, "and I am going to make it my life's mission to make you the happiest man in the world."

Dean hated to leave Aidan in distress. "You could wait here for me if you wanted..."

The suggestion itself did miracles. Aidan offered a warm smile, or one as warm as he could offer right now. "I'll wait for you at home. Don't be too late. If the meeting runs late, tell them you've got plans."

When he was certain it was just the two of them, Aidan admitted, "I gave Richard kind of a mouthful. I'm not really looking forward to being alone right now." But he got up nevertheless and whispered a love-you back before walking with him as far as he could on his way out.

Aidan felt besotted and vulnerable at the same time. Today had been tumultuous.

\- - - - - 

Dean dreaded leaving Aidan at that moment, but he was encouraged that he'd see him at home in just ninety minutes or so. He heard very little of what was said at the meeting and processed even less. His thoughts were only for Aidan.

He gathered his jacket and briefcase and left the office, so focused on seeing Aidan that he didn't notice that Adam and Stephen had appeared, flanking him. 

"Hello, Dean," Stephen said brusquely from his left. "Come along. You're being pulled out. It's time to go home."

"What? No!" Dean's reaction was exactly what they'd been prepared for. "Stephen, I—"

"Dean," Adam squeezed his upper arm from his other side. "It's done. Your apartment's been packed up. Aidan will be taken into Witness Protection shortly. It's what you wanted, right?"

"R-right, right," Dean calmed, taking a deep breath. Aidan would be safe. 

"We can talk in the car," Stephen told them both. "C'mon," he said, handing the keys to Adam. 

Dean's heart pounded and he felt as if he might be sick. _He's going to be okay,_ he told himself. _It's going to be okay._

He began to think it _wasn't_ going to be okay when Stephen climbed into the back seat with him. 

"What aren't you telling me?" Dean asked them both, feeling panic rising.

"You're not allowed to see him again, Dean," Stephen told his friend, as Adam started up the car. 

Adam bit his lip and shot Dean a guilty look in the mirror. "I was able to get him to safety," he explained. "But you aren't allowed to know where. And you cannot have any contact with him, Dean. I'm sorry."

Dean felt his world collapse, growing smaller and smaller until it was a tiny pinhole. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. His extremities were tingling. He could feel Stephen's hand on his shoulder, but it offered no comfort. He felt dead, wooden.

"I'm not going to need to sedate you, am I, Dean?" Stephen asked him.

"No," Dean whispered, in a voice that wasn't his own. "Let's go home."

\- - - - - 

Aidan rattled the key. He was sure he'd punched in the right numbers of the code. He'd written them out on a card in his wallet, just to be safe. Now, theoretically all he had to do was turn the key. But it wouldn't budge.

After the fifth time, an alarm forced him to get out of there quickly. He might have been staying there for a while, but he doubted he could convince the police of that fact himself.

Aidan was vexed as he rang Dean. Voicemail. The beep sounded well before he could organize his thoughts, so he rambled. "Hey. Uh, I guess you're still in the meeting. There's something wrong with the code. You'll probably get a phone call from the company soon, asking if that was you. So, right, well, that was me. Hey, I think I'll get a coffee somewhere close and wait for you there, okay? Can you call me when you get home?" Aidan hesitated. "Love you," he added because there was no reason why not to say it.

But two hours and several attempted phone calls later, Aidan was starting to feel anxious. He did the only logical thing he could do. He called Richard.

"What did you do?" animosity laced the words at once. "You did something, didn't you?"

For a moment, Richard didn't recognize Aidan's voice, as it was so full of malice.

"Do?" he chuckled darkly when he realized who he was speaking to. "As in ... _to your boyfriend?_ Nothing. He wouldn't let me. But it wasn't for lack of trying." 

Silence greeted Richard's jab. He frowned.

"What's the matter? Can't find him? Maybe he's gone back home."

"He's not home," Aidan said irritably, deciding not to get into that discussion about boyfriends with Richard. He'd worn out his privilege to that a few hours ago. "I've been there. The security code doesn't work, and I can't reach him anywhere."

"I meant home as in...back to the United States of America," Richard smiled to himself. Wow, Aidan really was clueless about who Dean was. "Listen," he went on. "I didn't hurt him. I don't _have_ him here tied up on my bed—although the idea holds a great deal of fascination. I'm packing, if you must know. I'm leaving, Aidan."

Aidan no longer knew what to believe. "Where are you going? Why would he go back? You know something, don't you?" The desperation was by now obvious, because somehow Richard didn't sound like he was lying. He started heading back to the apartment, hoping against his belief that he'd find Dean there.

Richard sighed. "You're a genuinely nice guy, Aidan. Smart, good looking. I would never have harmed you, despite what Dean might have told you. I can't imagine what you must think of me. I'm sorry for that. You don't have to be afraid to go back to your apartment. No one's going to hurt you or come there looking for you."

In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, he added, "J-just...try to stay out of trouble. No more illegal stuff, okay? And don't call me anymore. This number won't be good for much longer anyway," he added, and reluctantly disconnected.

Aidan stared at the phone. Then, suddenly panicking, he ran the last few yards to the apartment building, took the stairs to the third floor because the elevator wouldn't hurry, and started jamming at the closed door.

Nobody responded, so he called Dean again, who wouldn't answer. Neither did Richard when Aidan tried. Aidan felt his world shrinking in on him. Either someone was pulling the world's most elaborate joke on him—and he wouldn't forgive anyone if that was the case—or everything was collapsing in on itself.

When an hour later he entered the hall of his own apartment, defeated, the door fell shut at the same time that Aidan gave in to his helplessness, and cried.

He had no idea what was going on. It seemed like everyone else did and yet they refused to tell him. All the weird responses from Dean lately. Richard's interference. Everything was wrong.

He didn't know why, but it felt final.

Blindly, Aidan stumbled to the refrigerator for a bottle of water. He opened the freezer to get some ice and found stacked up three Tupperware containers of chicken pot pie. On top was a yellow post-it note that read:

Freezes well.

Think of me while you eat this.

x Dean

Aidan couldn't keep his eyes off the boxes for a long while, bile rising in the back of his throat. Then suddenly he threw the door shut in anger. Dean was ending things with him. Without explaining, without giving a chance to find out why, he had just up and left. Aidan longed to fling the boxes against the wall. He didn't. But what a mockery of their relationship, to get food as a farewell gift. Food would go bad. There was no point holding onto it. In a week, either the dishes would have gone bad, or he would have eaten them. Either way, they'd be gone.

Didn't Aidan deserve an answer? Apparently that was too much to ask. But Richard, Richard knew. Richard, who'd appeared to be a vicious man, who yet knew more about Dean than Aidan did. Had they been in it together? Did that mean that Dean was...no. He couldn't be that kind of guy.

Aidan didn't know him though. Not really. Who were his parents? Where had he lived in the U.S.? What way did he have to find him again?

The questions were still flooding him at eleven, and he decided to try for sleep.

When his parents asked where the man they'd been promised to meet was, the next day, Aidan excused himself and, after a long period of avoiding them in the restroom, came back with the explanation that he didn't know himself, either.

He forced himself to go out and catch a movie on Sunday, or he'd only sit at home thinking. They ended up being three movies, and they still weren't enough.

When by Wednesday his feeling of helplessness had turned into anger and far too many theories—all negative—as to why Dean would do this had crossed his mind, he threw the remaining container of chicken pot pie in the garbage. 

Half an hour later, a man calling himself James Nesbitt knocked on his door.

They'd sent James because he was Irish. They thought he might relate better to Aidan. 

James sighed. How could someone possibly relate to the news of _hey, buddy, pack up your shit...we're moving you to the United States. Oh, and we're going to change your name as well. It's for your own safety, you must understand. And, on top of that, we have a job for you._

"Hello Aidan, I'm James," he extended a hand to shake. "The CIA sent me."

James was under strict orders not to mention Dean at all, and he didn't, despite the fact that Dean had begged him to. He'd never seen his colleague so shaken.

The agency relocated Aidan to Santa Monica, California. James was instantly jealous of Aidan's oceanside apartment and its beautiful view of the sea and the crowd. Three miles away was the lab where Aidan would work—as Alex Tierney—a researcher, specifically on a drug to help wean addicts off Milk.

It took some time, two years to be precise, but Alex Tierney _did_ create a non-addictive Milk substitute, and the substance became the savior of many addicts willing to seek help—just as Dean as predicted.

Despite shutting down smaller distributors and wanna-be Milk makers, the creator of Milk was never found.

\- - - - -

_Present Day_  
 _CIA Headquarters_  
 _Langley, Virginia_

Aidan looked up from where he sat. The lunch quarters were large, and there were several to pick from. Nonetheless, the newly acquired ID badge dangling from his chest pocket felt heavy as a stone and every time someone sat down close to him, he flinched. He'd been here two days now; he'd already visited his boss and told him that he and Dean knew each other, in hopes of being transferred. 

But it was pointless; Mr. Pace had taken one look at his resume, summed it up for him, and wondered aloud if he really wanted his next part of his work experience to be at one of the many national venereal disease laboratories, doing routine jobs because he couldn't handle himself professionally.

That night Aidan had plunged himself into Washington's nightlife, which had made for the massive headache and the stranger that he'd awkwardly pushed out of his bed and out of his apartment, making him late for work. He made a mental note to himself never to go out on a Monday night again.

Aidan turned back to his lunch. Maybe, if he tried hard to avoid the world, the world would forget about him too.

"That must be the most interesting macaroni and cheese in the history of the world," Adam joked, sitting down across from Aidan. "Adam Brown," he reminded him. "We met on your first day. I notice you've kept to yourself quite a bit. Bit of a lone wolf, are you?"

Aidan looked him over none too obviously. The man in front of him looked nice. Nice enough not to warrant getting a shitload of Aidan's frustration thrown his way. He tried for a smile. "A bit of a headache, actually. I figured going out would be a great way to celebrate having a new job..."

In truth he'd gone out rather to forget, but what Adam didn't know couldn't hurt him. "I remember you," Aidan nodded. He gestured at his plate with his fork. "You guys have the best food here."

Adam smiled, but it was a sad smile. "I was hoping we could talk, Aidan. Not here, but maybe over a few beers, tonight? Don't worry," he said, as the rising look of alarm on Aidan's face, "I'm not trying to pick you up. I just have some stuff I need to tell you. Things I should have probably told you five years ago. Will you come?"

"Five years? I—no, I'd rather not." Aidan looked for a way out. What happened five years ago was what he'd been trying to forget for too long. He wasn't going to bring it all back, despite not knowing how Adam was involved with it. He got up from his seat. "I'm sorry. I have to go. It was really nice talking to you."

Adam hurried after him, "Aidan, _please._ I need you to hear what I have to say. It's been weighing on me for a long time. You need to hear this. And I need to tell you, or I won't be able to live with myself!" 

"That's a bit melodramatic." Aidan kept walking.

"I'm sugar-coating it," Adam told him. "It's actually much worse. Will you come?" the smaller man hurried to keep up with the determined Irishman. 

Aidan looked at him. "No," he said. "As far as five years ago is concerned, I have no interest in spending a night going back to that. If you have anything to tell me, you can tell me now. And if it's private, then fine, step into my office. But I'm not ruining my spare time over it."

"Fine," Adam sighed. "But you're going to wish you'd had a drink or two before I'm done. I probably should have had a few before approaching you."

He followed Aidan to his office, and closed the door behind him. "What I tell you has to stay in this room," he said, sinking into Aidan's guest chair, "or I could lose my job. I was Dean's handler when he was in Dublin," Adam began.

He got only a dull look in return; Aidan had already begun to close his emotions off. There was still anger there and, for what Dean had done, a vicious feeling not very far from hatred, that had been borne in his heart not long after he'd left him.

"I know he was there for Milk," Aidan said. "It's not hard to do the math. The day after he disappeared, they arrested a man in North Dublin. He was released later on, but that was months later. There was another man, Richard Armitage, who threatened my cousin, who was addicted to Milk. He knew before I did that Dean had gone. It's not hard to connect those dots. Dean was briefed to get close to me because I was a suspect. He probably got a bonus for sleeping with me. It's in the past, and I have no intention of going back to that."

"You see?" Adam ghosted a smile and nodded." This is why I have to talk to you. You know so little about what actually went on. I can tell you were hurt by what happened with Dean, and I don't want to make this more painful for you than it needs to be. But I have things to tell you that...well, some of them are very good, and some of them are very bad." He sighed and looked down at his hands. "The very bad things...those were my fault."

Adam sat forward and told Aidan, "When Dean came back here, he wasn't able to work," he told him. "He requested a sabbatical—time off, without pay. He was gone seven months."

"So?" Aidan said coolly.

"You need to know, Aidan, if you take nothing else away from this conversation, that Dean was in love with you. He still is. Yes, he was sent there to get close to you because you were suspected of creating and dealing Milk. That part _is_ true, but he fell in love with you. That was not pretend. He called me several times during the investigation to ask for advice on how to deal with it—none of which he took, of course," he scoffed.

"Dean was straight, you see," Adam lamented. "At least, we all thought so. Didn't stop me from wanting him though. You spend years working with someone...well, let's just say I wanted him in ways that weren't a hundred percent professional. When he admitted to me that he was having feelings—strong 'I want to be with this guy for the rest of my life' feelings—for a _guy,_ " Adam looked away, "well, I just went nuts."

He looked at Aidan pointedly. "It is okay for me continue?"

Silently, Aidan waved a hand. He'd leaned back on his chair with his arms crossed, but he hadn't expected this angle—that of Adam wanting Dean. There was none of the expected plea to give the asshole that had ruined his faith in relationships five years ago another, undeserved chance. "I won't return to him," Aidan said quieter. "Don't hope for it, because it won't happen. But sure, continue."

"The night after Richard attacked your—cousin, was it?—Dean called me, frantic," Adam went on. "He asked me if I'd arrange extradition for you. Witness Protection. I did, as you know. The agency, when they heard everything Dean said about your promise as a researcher and developer, were eager to bring you stateside and put you to work. You were everything he told us you were." Adam nodded.

"This is the part I'm not proud of," Adam's hands were laced tightly. "I got selfish. I saw opportunity. I told Dean, when I went to Dublin to bring him home, that the agency had forbidden for the two of you to have further contact. That he'd lose his job if he tried to find you. I _lied_ to him, thinking that I could sweep in and pick up the pieces, and have that romantic relationship with him I'd always wanted. Instead," Adam wiped at a tear running down his nose, "instead, he shut down. He was in mourning, as if you'd died. To him, it was the same thing. He could never see you again. _I_ did that. Not the agency. He doesn't know. I can't bear to tell him. He trusted me because it was my job."

Adam pushed his glasses up his nose and reached for a Kleenex. "He hasn't dated since he came back. Nobody. He literally never got over you. No one could compare, you see," his voice wavered. "And...when Mr. Pace said you were here on an inside recommendation, it's true. The recommendation was Dean's. He'd made it five years earlier, of course. But when the position became vacant, I reminded Lee about you. I thought, maybe, I could fix things. Make it right, somehow."

He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. "Anyway, that's it. I'm sorry, Aidan. I'm sorry for lying to get what I wanted and taking him away from you. If you're not _with_ someone, you should..." he paused, trying to choose the right words "you should give him another chance."

Despite the words, Aidan looked away. His second day already, someone had brought up old wounds and made them hurt. He wasn't sure whether Adam told the truth or not, but it sounded like he wasn't making it up.

"I can't," he said with regret. "If it's true what you said, then you're to blame, but it doesn't take away the fact that I can't trust him. I'm sure you mean no harm...Adam, was it? I've just, I don't know why I'm telling you this. I don't know you and from what you just said, I doubt we'll ever be good friends. I'm okay with it never happening. Somehow things always get screwed up. Regardless of whether he fell for me, he meant to mislead me. He meant to get into my heart. And he did, you know. But then he left, and the way he tore himself out..."

Aidan looked at Adam then. "I'm okay with not finding the one now. I thought he was it. But then he hurt me in a way nobody should ever be able to. I didn't like realizing that. So it's okay. I have no interest in trying to pick up the pieces. There are no pieces, nor will there be pieces again."

He looked at the door. "I'm sure you're a nice guy, Adam, but right now, I don't like you very much. Could you go?"

Adam, who should have slunk away in shame, looked at Aidan and knitted his brow.

"He _loves_ you. Do you know how lucky that makes you?" Adam could only shake his head in disbelief. "I wouldn't have come to you and said all this if I thought you'd squander this amazing opportunity you've been given. Maybe you aren’t the amazing guy he told me about after all.”

He sighed sadly. "I'm gonna go. I'm really very sorry, Aidan. I hope, in time, you two can find one another again."

He opened the door and left without another word.


	10. What Were You Thinking?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam comes clean. Dean and Aidan talk.

Just like that, Aidan knocked the nearest folder off his desk in rage. It was the closest thing to him that wasn't breakable, that wouldn't get him in the books as a difficult employee because really, he wasn't, it was just the circumstances.

_Then go for him yourself, Adam,_ he thought angrily. _If that's what you want. I hate him. And you, if you meant what you said. He is nothing to me._

It was the first time in five years that Aidan was allowed to use his actual name again. No longer did he have to pretend to be someone else. He didn't want to squander that for something that was not worth it, drumming his pen with a violent pace on the table. He felt like he needed to send a message. So he got up, found Dean's office—it was the first thing he memorized—and closed the door behind him to keep others out.

"You," he pointed at him, "are an asshole and a jerk. Get it in your head; we're never getting back together. Every time I see you I'm reminded of the biggest mistake I made in my life. So stop sending your friends after me and leave me the fuck alone!"

That said, he threw the door open again and took off.

For the briefest second, when Aidan had rushed into his office, Dean had allowed himself to hope that maybe, just maybe...

His hopes were quickly dashed.

Who had spoken to Aidan? And what the fuck had they said to him? He couldn't care. His heart was jackrabbiting in his chest.

How many times had he lamented not trying harder to find Aidan over the years? During his sabbatical, he'd gone back to Dublin and tried to find him, but Aidan had been long placed in Witness Protection. He could have snuck into the computer lab and accessed the private files—found out Aidan's new name and where he was living. But tampering with Witness Protection files carried prison time, along with the loss of his job.

He hated his job—the job he used to have such a passion for—for taking Aidan away from him. If only he could get Aidan alone. If only he could explain.

But what words could possibly fix this?

The application for a transfer to another branch office lay unopened on his desk. 

He had to get away. Aidan deserved to be happy, and if that meant a life without Dean O'Gorman in it, Dean could at least grant him that.

Down the hallway and back into his own office, which he locked immediately after entering, Aidan seethed. He took awhile to calm down and hoped that the door wouldn't open again. He didn't have a key and he was depending on his lab partner—thankfully still at his lunch somewhere else.

Long, deep breaths calmed him down a bit. Oh, how Aidan wanted out. He had thought that maybe, if he didn't raise the issue, he could avoid the confrontation. But it'd been a foolish thing to think. His ears were ringing as he thought.

It wasn't fair on Dean, to blame him for Adam's words. What was worse was the effect that he still had. When Aidan saw what he was doing, how full of sorrow Dean's eyes were becoming because of him, his words, he had wanted to hold him close and never let go. Aidan hated him.

He still wanted him.

The thought wouldn't leave him, and at four he typed him an email. Aidan hovered over the send-button for so long that his partner was beginning to look at him oddly and finally cleared his throat. He quickly pressed send—and then there was no turning back.

_We need to talk, don't we?_ it read.

\- - - - - 

It was protocol for Dean to do everything through his handler. But he didn't want Adam to know about his transfer request. Especially after what Aidan had said earlier. Who else would talk to Aidan on his behalf? It had to have been Adam. Dean didn't need help fucking things up. He could do that just fine on his own, thank you very much.

He took the application directly to Lee Pace, who didn't seem at all surprised. 

"I wish you'd stay, O'Gorman," Lee told him. "Despite that mess five years ago, you've got a spotless record. I rather thought my bringing in Aidan Turner might make you happy. It was you who recommended him, after all."

Dean just smiled sadly. "I'm sure he'll be a real asset to the unit, Lee. I appreciate you considering my request."

"I'll have my assistant get you into the system right away, Dean. We'll be sorry to see you go. I do hope you'll reconsider," he reached out to shake Dean's hand.

"If I do," Dean told him, "you'll be the first to know."

Walking back to his office, he felt like a condemned man. He decided to check his email once more before going home. There was one message in his inbox—from Aidan!

_We need to talk, don't we?_

Dean barked out a half-laugh, half-sob and buried his face in his hands.

"Yes," he typed back. "Whenever and wherever you like. Let me know."

He hit _send_ with his fingers crossed.

Aidan didn't get a message in before closing hours—which, he had already learned, were never really closing hours in this office—because it seemed like his coworkers already thought he was slacking off, sending messages to other people on his second day. Messages that were obviously personal, by the amount of time he spent considering his next sentence. So Aidan simply hurried to the other side of the building at five and hoped to catch Dean there.

He smoothed out his step a few yards before the door and glossed his expression over with one of reserve. Aidan didn't want to do this. Yet if he wanted to keep this job as well as his sanity, he needed for them to set some rules.

Clearing his throat, he knocked on the opened door.

Dean, lost in his own thoughts while pretending to be reading a file that had been sent his way, sat up suddenly.

"Aidan," he said in a pleasantly surprised tone. "I… I hadn't expected you so soon. Come in, please, and shut the door, if you want." He gestured to the empty chair along the wall. "I'm glad you decided you wanted to talk. I really couldn't go on ignoring you," the blond confided.

Aidan smiled sadly, remembering the last time they'd been in a closed office clearly. He took a seat and looked at him. Dean looked as beautiful today as he looked five years ago. Aidan's heart hurt for it. "It's tiring, avoiding you," he said. "We'll be working together again, hopefully without unexpected disappearances this time. I don't want our past to mess that up."

"I have so much I want to tell you, Aidan," Dean's hand unconsciously began reaching for his and he pulled it back, "but I'm scared that you're going think that anything I tell you is a lie. That everything ever _told_ you was a lie."

A sad smile glossed over Aidan. "An apology would be nice. I have lots to tell you too, but that's not why I'm here. Not, I mean, for that apology either. This isn't working. We're going to be working together." He looked up at Dean. It was a pity how he'd gotten to associate that face with the emotional wreck he'd become. It would have been so nice to just look at it for a long time.

"Lando cleaned up," he said. "He's a mailman now. Not the most outstanding job, he says, but he really enjoys it."

"I'm really glad to hear that, Aidan," Dean told him. "You know, a couple years ago, when I heard that a Milk substitute had been synthesized, even though your name wasn't associated with it, I _knew_ it was you who did it. I just knew. You are a hero to so many. I am so proud of you," he whispered.

The response was less dignified. Aidan snorted. "I was part of a team that consisted of twenty-four people. Every one of us put as much work into it as me. I'm just glad I got Lando off the street. That was all I needed. And then I was suddenly offered a job here. America is big, Dean. I never would have suspected to find the one place where you work. Still at the same job as you were then, or did you get a promotion since?"

"Same job," Dean frowned at Aidan not wanting to take credit for his accomplishment. "No promotion. I'm lucky to have my job, in fact. I went a little—" he paused to gather his thoughts, " _nuts,_ I guess you could say. I took a break from it when I came home from Dublin. Nearly quit. But then I remembered why I do what I do. It's too important."

He looked away and out the window. "Back when I was still with you in Ireland, I recommended you. We only now had an opening. You were a perfect fit. The agency doesn't care much about peoples' personal lives. It's my fault you're here. It wasn't an accident. I'm sorry you're stuck here with me. But I'm so happy to see you, Aidan. I thought I might die when the agency told me I could never see you again."

Aidan reached for a pen to still the compulsive need to busy himself with something for distraction. Outside the office, people were going home for the night. How wonderful it had to be, to have someone waiting for you to get home. They were like that once, but would never be so again. "Adam said he told you you couldn't contact me. I'm sure I don't need to tell you how I was after you left. Did you know that Richard left at exactly the same time? He knew, and I didn't. It took a while before I found out you were hired to talk me into bed, you know."

Aidan's words were quiet. He'd given up years ago. But that didn't mean he couldn't still be sad about it. "It makes so much sense now, why it seemed like you were trying too hard the first weeks."

Dean knew he had to choose his next words very, very carefully. 

"If I had known on that day when I left the office that I was going to be intercepted and forced to go home, I would have skipped that meeting and I would have finished doing what I started doing," he said. "I would have told you who I was and why was really there. I would have told you that yes, I was sent there to get close to you...but that I really did love you. I started loving you the minute we spoke. All that awkward fumbling and trying too hard...unfortunately, that was real. Things kept going because I wanted them to. I loved you, Aidan. I still love you—I never stopped. In fact, its killing me not to be able to touch you right now."

"Dean."

Aidan looked at him with a warning in his eyes. He shook his head, his eyes focused on the other all the time. There was nothing he wanted more—nothing that would hurt him more. "I can't. I'm...I'm here to get the past out of the way, not to embrace it. I'm sorry. I just can't."

Dean didn't know what to say. Nothing could make this better. But he wanted Aidan to know everything.

"I'm sure you hate me, Aidan," Dean told him, "and I don't blame you. I hate myself so much for what I did to you." Tears he didn't want Aidan to see came unbidden and he swiped them away with the back of his hand.

"Now that you're here, I want to make sure you know the truth. All of it," Dean sniffed. "So, what else do you want to know? What can I answer that will help you put this behind you?"

"Everything." Aidan looked at the clock. "If it's okay by you, maybe we should get out of here. Grab a drink or just sit somewhere. But, everything, from beginning to end. There's a lot I've pieced together. A second opinion would be nice." He smiled awkwardly. Aidan didn't know how to act around him, and he hoped he was giving off a vibe of friendliness—nothing more. "I thought I'd be more pissed at you, actually. I suppose Adam did do something right."

"Adam?" Dean's head shot up. "Oh, hell. What did he say to you? He's always trying to help...but it often comes out the wrong way."

There was silence, then a shrug. "He said he told you you'd lose your job if you pursued me, and he said that was a lie. That's true, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's what I was told, in no uncertain terms, when Adam and Stephen came to bring me home from Ireland," Dean said sadly. "But," he sat forward. "I _did_ pursue you. I had to come back here for a de-briefing, but a week later, I told my boss I wanted to take a sabbatical. The first thing I did was return to Dublin. Your apartment was empty. You were gone. No one at ChemTrex knew where to find you. I stuck around a few weeks more thinking maybe, just maybe, you moved or found a new job—because you were afraid of Richard. But you were gone. What I didn't find out until much later was that you were already in California by then, with a new name. I was glad you were safe, Aidan. I'm glad they got you somewhere safe where you could work. But, the selfish part of me wishes I could have stayed in Ireland. With you."

"From the beginning," pleaded Aidan. "Please. We keep talking about the end, but I need to know the beginning. How did this start? And who the hell is Richard? He's not involved with Milk as we thought, is he? Please don't tell me you were on the same team or something. You seemed like you couldn't stand each other. That wasn't a play, was it?"

Tierney. If Aidan had known back then, he would have resolutely declined the program and the name. Without that knowledge, getting on board seemed like the best shot he had had at finding Dean.

The damage had been done though. A simple sorry wouldn't restore the wall knocked over. "Why didn't you move on? If you knew you wouldn't see me again..."

"Answering that question means I'd have to start at the end," Dean looked down at his hands. "I want to go back further. It was just a typical day and I was called into my boss's office. He gave me a file—a file on you. Apparently, your name was pinging often in tandem with sales and distribution of Milk. You were flagged as the possible creator of the drug. I was sent to Ireland to find out if you really were. I was supposed to 'get close' to you. Friends, of course, is what the agency said. But they told me that you were gay. They sent me because they felt, that, if it was called for, I could be comfortable with that, and possibly... _engage_ you."

Dean looked up and met his eyes. "Richard worked for the KGB. He was there for the exact same reason. And yes, we both knew the other was a covert agent. Each of us figured it out pretty quickly that you weren't a criminal. At least, not the criminal we were looking for. I was very insistent that you destroy your drug-making equipment, Aidan, because I didn't want to have to include anything about that in my report. You really could have gone to jail for what you were doing, you know that, right?"

"The point was not to get caught." Aidan smiled softly and looked around for something to drink. He got up shortly to grab both of them a cup of coffee from the machine. Over his shoulder he said, "My plans didn't involve undercover agents. So Richard wanted me because of orders too? I have to admit," he tried to make it all lighter, "that's a fair dent to my pride, right there."

It actually was. To hear that two handsome men had vied for his attention on orders, not because of himself, killed any amount of pride had at the time. He sat back down and watched Dean.

"Were you gay?" Aidan asked. "Your history consisted of women only." There was a hint of accusation there.

"I was never attracted to another man until I met you," Dean told him, accepting the coffee. "And there hasn't been anyone else since."

Aidan stirred his coffee. Outside, the biggest rush hour had passed and silence was, bit by bit, returning. "I wondered several years between then and now whether you meant it. It's...good to finally know. Closure. But move on, Dean. Besides," he suddenly found the fine grain of the walls particularly interesting, "time has passed, and we have changed. If you're looking for what we had...that part of me is gone. It's good to hear it wasn't all a sham. Now we can move on."

"Did _you_ , Aidan? Move on?" Dean wondered, sitting forward with his elbows resting on his knees. "Have you found him?" His eyes searched Aidan's face. A beep from Dean's computer heralded an incoming email. His phone warned him of a text immediately after. "If you tell me yes, I will try my damndest to forget you and try to find someone else," Dean finished. "I swear, I will."

His heart thudded as he waited for the answer.

"...I moved on." Because that was the answer Aidan wanted to give. "I haven't found anyone, but I'm also not looking. As long as I make sure to get my—" he looked for a decent enough wording, "—physical fix every once in a while," which, he realized, made him sound cheap, "I'm fine with how it is for me."

It would be hard to see Dean with someone else. But, Aidan told himself, it wouldn't be fair to say he did not want him and not allow him to carry on either. Wasn't that what he wanted?

"I'd like it if we could become friends," Aidan said instead, and did his very best not to make it sound offensive.

Dean nodded sadly, suddenly very glad he'd turned in that transfer request. 

"Friends, then," he repeated, heart feeling as if it might shatter. "I'm glad you're willing to offer me that."

He knew he had to get Aidan out of there before he broke down in front of him. "Aidan, I have dinner plans and I need to head home and get ready. C-can we talk more some other time?"

"Right," Aidan nodded. He sat back as if making room for Dean to get up, even though Dean sat by the door's side and it wasn't necessary. "I should get going too. There's still lots to do because of the move." He chuckled in an attempt to convince Dean that it was okay. "There's a bed and a mostly empty fridge, and that's all. It's a bit sad, really."

Dean definitely didn't waste time, it seemed. Aidan ignored the pang over his dinner plans. It was perfectly fine. Nothing wrong there.

"Sure," he got up for real this time. "Some other time. Thanks, Dean. I was afraid this would be really awkward."

"If I can do anything to help with the apartment situation, let me know," Dean offered. "But I can't this evening, I'm sorry."

He desperately needed Aidan to get out of that room before he fell apart.

"No, of course. Thanks anyway. You're a lifesaver," Aidan smiled. He played along with the charade and moved to the door on his own accord. He didn't want to stay here much longer himself, either. "I'll see you around then."

As soon as he was out the door, he headed to the restrooms in a straight line. There, he found a cubicle and locked the stall door behind him.

Without a sound, Aidan cried.

\- - - - - 

As soon as Aidan was gone, Dean rose and shut his office door, leaning heavily against it. He took in several long deep breaths to try to calm himself. But seeing Aidan after all this time was taking a toll on him. He'd seen a psychologist for a long time after returning to work. She'd given him several coping methods, all with various degrees of finality.

 _For you, it's as if he's died,_ she'd said. _You need to mourn your love, and everything that might have sprung from that love._

And he had. He _had_. But now, Aidan was back. He was desperate to hold him.

He sank into his desk chair, wiping away tears, preparing to write Lee an email asking him to expedite his transfer, when he noticed the email that had arrived while he was talking with Aidan. The subject line read "Emergency!"

He was about to read it when Adam burst into his office following a brief knock. "Dean!" He looked flustered. "God, you look like hell," he observed, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"I'm going to have to cancel dinner, Adam," Dean told him. "I'm just not feeling well."

"I can see that," Adam frowned. "Have you checked any of the texts or emails I've sent? It's only going to make you feel worse."

"I was just about to," Dean told him. "What's this urgent news?"

"Graham McTavish escaped from prison this morning," Adam told him, eyes wide.

"Oh," Dean suddenly felt the room spinning. "Oh, _fuck_ me."

\- - - - - 

Aidan felt terrible. He stared at the wall in front of him, willing himself to pull himself together. This was ridiculous. Hadn't he told himself for five years straight that Dean O'Gorman wasn't worth it? Hadn't he told himself there existed no bigger scum on the earth than someone the likes of him? Who would wrap a guy around his finger, picking him up all the way to the top so that the fall would be only the more painful.

He told himself not to care. He didn't. Didn't. Aidan had other things on his mind more important than worrying about an ex. That's all there was to it.

But no matter how hard he tried, he cared. And he blamed Dean for it; with his smooth explanation and knowing exactly how to look for the biggest effect, he once again had him wrapped around his finger. No matter how Aidan resisted, it was futile.

He picked himself up and rubbed water in his face from the sink. Then he grabbed his bag and headed home. On the way, he knew he had to pass Dean's office again. Aidan made sure to be fast. He just didn't expect Adam—the reason everything had gone awry—to be there.

He did notice, as he passed, that Dean looked even more upset than he had when Aidan had left a few minutes earlier. Clearly he was either confronting Adam about something or Adam had brought him bad news.

"Apparently a couple of the prison guards were in on it," Aidan heard Adam saying. "He must have promised to compensate them well. And he can afford to," he sighed. "You're going to have to be extra careful, Dean, until he's caught. If he comes after anyone, it'll be you."

Aidan stopped in his tracks to listen, just around the corner. He had to strain his ears to hear; only half of it made it to him. He knew he had heard correctly though when Adam said Dean was in danger. Unfortunately, that was when his phone rang—his mother, of all people, probably wanting to know about his second day of work at that chance-of-a-lifetime job—and he scrambled to get away. 

Fuck.

Dean was too distracted to notice Aidan's awkward shuffling in the hallway. 

Graham McTavish had been the first case Dean had been given when he returned to work in 2009. He was undercover in Graham's place of business for almost nine months. Graham was a fence of high-priced art and a dealer of exotic animals and many drugs...among them heroin and Milk. The Scotsman was quite wealthy, having inherited most of it when his parents passed away.

Dean had really poured himself into the case. It took awhile, but Dean went from having a low-level job at GlobalReach, Graham's company, to being brought into Graham's inner circle. Dean gathered enough evidence to arrest and convict McTavish and he'd been sent to a maximum security prison for 45 years.

Apparently, money talked. He'd convinced two guards that he'd reward them handsomely if they helped him escape. He'd faked an illness and while being transported by ambulance to a local hospital, mysteriously vanished without a trace. 

Dean was terrified of Graham. He was a ruthless bastard who cared only about product and money. It was only a matter of time before he'd gotten his side business up into full swing again. He'd probably want to flee the country. But first, he'd probably try to find Dean—or the people he cared about. Graham hurting Aidan or any of his colleagues scared Dean more than anything.

"Dean?" Adam tried to snap him back into reality. "You're a little out of it. Are you okay? I was thinking, if you want I can make sure you get off the radar for a couple of weeks, or as long as it takes. In fact, I insist on it. The guards he bribed...I'm sure he'll trace you back here sooner rather than later. We should probably send out a missive to the other people on the job too, but I needed to tell you first."

"Adam, that's nuts," Dean decided. "Being away from all of you and this place makes me vulnerable. I'm not going anywhere. Here I have the resources I need to help find Graham and get him locked back up. My house is secure. I should be all right." He sighed. "This is just...really badly-timed news, especially having just spoken with Aidan."

He leaned back in his chair, fiddling idly with the coffee which has gone cold. "Adam, can I ask you a question?"

Adam sat down in the spot where Aidan had just been. Unknowingly, but confused at the empty cup in front of him, he looked up at Dean and nodded. "Sure. But I'd feel much better if you'd let me get you off the grid. Promise me you'll consider it." 

"I'm not going anywhere," Dean said resolutely. "Listen, Aidan was here a little while ago and he said something that troubled me. He told me that you told him that when the agency said I wasn't allowed to have contact with Aidan after I came home from Dublin...that was a lie. Adam," he leaned towards his friend, "I know it was a long time ago, but I will never forget that day. That's what you and Stephen told me when you came for me in Ireland. That the agency had forbidden me further contact with Aidan. It's true, isn't it?"

Adam held in his breath for a long few seconds, mortified. But he could have known this would get back to him. "Aidan tells the truth. It was a lie," he whispered. At once his voice took on a pleading tone. "You know how your identity is the most important part of your value to the company. It's never advisable to keep in touch after the job is done. It jeopardizes your position as well as your safety, and with it, ours. But it's...not in the rules. I'm so sorry, Dean."

Dean felt the blood drain from his face and was grateful he was sitting down. "Y-you lied to me? I could have kept up contact with Aidan...and you _lied?_ " 

Dean was trembling. "I called you several times from Ireland and I confided with you that I loved him. I told you he was the one! I poured my heart out to you, Adam!" He grew silent. "Are you telling me that, all this time, it was _you_ who kept me from seeing Aidan, not the agency?"

Adam winced. He cast his gaze down at the empty cup. "I'm sorry. It was for your own good, you have to believe me. And then when it stopped being good for you, it was too late. He was in the program. I couldn't reach him. I didn't know how badly it would affect you. I thought it was supposed to be just a crush. So you see, you would have thanked me later for not doing something stupid. I made a mistake, Dean. I told him, so that maybe I could right that wrong."

In the hallway, Aidan stared back at the door to Dean's office. The raised voice was incomprehensible, but still audible for him. He couldn't help himself. He needed to hear what was going on. Quietly, with his phone on mute, Aidan snuck back.

Dean tried to allow this news to sink in, but he couldn't comprehend how Adam could have been so heartless in his decision making.

"I loved him. I _love_ him, Adam!" Dean got up and paced in the small space. "What words in the conversations we had when I called you from Dublin begging you for advice and help made you think it was some sort of crush? That I wanted to be done with him? I told you I wanted to spend my life with him! Adam, you're my handler and my friend. You knew I loved him, and you lied to me..." the hurt was audible in Dean's voice, "for my own good? Get out," Dean's voice grew dark and cold. "I've already filed a transfer so I won't have to worry about finding a new handler. You played with my _life,_ Adam. How could you do that?" Dean reached for the door and opened it.

Aidan just stood there, in the middle of the hallway, too caught by surprise to have a chance at moving away.

"I uh, I forgot something," he muttered weakly. "Don't mind me."

Dean was leaving. The thought haunted Aidan mind despite it not belonging there. It was too much too fast, and Aidan had trouble keeping up. What was he supposed to do, when for so long he had hated the man he'd lost his heart to for all the wrong reasons? When he was leaving him behind again, and this time it _was_ on Dean's own volition; to get away from him?

Aidan turned on his heel. He needed to get out of here.

"Wait, Aidan..." Dean chased after him, pushing past Adam to lay a hand on a retreating Aidan's shoulder. "Please. I can't stay here and pretend to be your friend. I'm not that good an actor. I'd always want more. I can't take that kind of torture."

He slid his hand down Aidan's arm and squeezed Aidan's hand beseechingly. "I couldn't bear to be with you every day and never be able to love you."

"So you're just going to leave?"

Aidan shot a glare at Adam. He had no interest in him listening in, and his presence was a burden. He hissed between his teeth, "You're not exactly giving me time to get used to the idea that it wasn't your choice now, are you? What am I supposed to think? You've been an asshole for years, the way I see it. So now that turns out to be a misconception, but instead of fucking giving me the time to get used to that, you're already—Oh, fuck it. Forget it. Go. This isn't worth it." And he whipped around again and took off in resolute steps that belied the sorrow he tried desperately to keep inside.

"You just got done telling me to move on!" Dean cried, pursuing him down the empty hallway. "I can't do that here, Aidan. Not when everything I want is right in front of me!"

He came to a stop in front of Aidan so he could retreat no further. "So which is it? Do you want me to stay?"

"Well, I don't want you to run away!" The frustration was infectious. "I don't know, all right!? I didn't expect to see you again and then when I do, everything turns out to be different from what I thought it would be. Just because I'm not jumping for us to get back together doesn't mean I like having to go through the whole thing again!"

"I wasn't running," Dean explained. "I knew it would look bad for you to ask for a transfer so early on in your time here. But I didn't want to make things difficult for you by being around. I thought you'd be more comfortable if I left. I am not running from you. The last thing I want is to be away from you again."

Dean pulled Aidan into the empty restroom nearby. "I know I came to you under false pretenses. I can't change that. It breaks my heart what I did to you. But everything that happened after that...it was real. It was me, and I _love_ you, Aidan," his hands moved as if they wanted to touch the other, but wasn't sure where, or how. "I don't want to leave. I'll withdraw the transfer first thing Monday morning, if you'll try to forgive me and give me a chance to prove myself to you."

Aidan's eyes searched his. His thoughts were warring inside; one part wanted to have nothing to do with him, while the other didn't want to see Dean leave. Dean could still be lying. Without knowing what he was looking for, Aidan inspected him, tried to find any evidence of a lie. There wasn't any that he could see.

"I can't trust you," he said at last. "Start with that."

"I know you don't, but I want you to," Dean begged him. "I didn't leave you voluntarily, Aidan. I never wanted to leave. And before I was pulled out, I did my best to ensure you'd be put in a safe place. I'm relieved that that happened, even if I wasn't able to see you. I hope the past five years have been," he paused, "I hope they have been _good_ for you."

Aidan snorted. "Whatever you call good. I had to start from scratch on the other side of the world. There wasn't anyone I knew." His look softened. "But I've been safe, I guess. No attempts to end my life, and Lando hasn't had any of that either. I mean it though. About the trust. And no more interference from Adam. I think he's done enough damage."

"I'm so mad at Adam right now," Dean wiped a trembling hand over his eyes. "Right now it feels like he ruined my life. So, when you say that I ruined yours, I do understand. Five years is a long time, especially when you wish you were with someone that you can't have. I can't say 'I'm sorry' enough to make this up to you," Dean repeated. "I wish we'd met under different circumstances. I want nothing more than for you to give me another chance, Aidan."

Aidan smiled sadly. "So don't go. I can't promise you anything right now, you know I can't. But we can see how things go, can't we?"

Part of him was screaming mutiny. He ignored it for the sake of not feeling for another five years like he'd done something wrong. Aidan waved about awkwardly. "You said you had dinner plans. Don't run late because of me."

"My plans were with Adam," Dean told him. "I cancelled. I might punch him...or worse. At the very least, it's clear I can't allow him to be my handler anymore. He seems to think he knows what's better for me than I do."

Dean shrugged. "So, where are you living? Have you unpacked?"

"They put me in Washington. Penn Quarter. It's a nice flat, but half of my stuff is still boxed up, and it's a bit empty. As was my flat in Santa Monica. Mum told me to get a pet, but I'm still—oh, shit." Aidan picked up his phone and stared at it. Four missed calls. "Shit. Give me just a minute. She's been worried about me moving and I've, you know..." Aidan trailed off. He looked pleadingly at Dean not to move while he rang his mother.

"Mum, hi!" his whole demeanor changed at once. "Yeah, ah, sorry about that. Look, I'm in the middle of something. I'll call you as soon as I get out of the office, okay?"

That being said, Aidan's mood shifted back into one of unease as soon as he put the phone down.

"Right. Sorry about that. You know how mum gets, all scared about nothing."

"I'm sorry I never got to meet her," Dean told him. "I really wanted to. Uh, my place is in Georgetown, near the university. I love it there. You know, there's so much to do in D.C. I hope you like it here as much as I do, Aidan. Maybe," he raised his eyes to meet Aidan's, "I could show you around a bit, when you feel up to it."

"They put you in the better neighborhood, didn't they?" Aidan grimaced with a bit of humor—the first attempt in front of Dean in far too long. "When I go to bed, I still hear everything outside. It's worse on Fridays. I got here last week. On Friday. Please don't tell me Thursdays are even worse." He looked around the restroom quaintly. "How about we get out of here first?"

Dean chuckled, "Yeah, okay."

They headed back towards Dean's office. "Georgetown's a typical college community. Kitschy shops, hip people. And yeah, it's the city, so there's always traffic. I have a white noise machine. That helps. It's not very upscale, but the security is quite good at my place. I'm sure you've found that all CIA apartments are a cut above the rest in that regard. You have your own 10-digit code now, right?"

"I had that at the other job too," Aidan mentioned. By now it was starting to get late, and he wanted to get out of the office. "First time with my actual name though. It feels good to hear my name and be able to reply again, you know. Witness Protection is good for some things, but it's terrible for others. You have to redefine everything you are. That's...hard."

It was surprising how good it was to talk to Dean again—and how easy. But Aidan didn't want to push his luck. If he wasn't careful, they'd do things he'd regret. That was why, as soon as they reached Dean's office, he pointed over his shoulder. "I should get going, either way. If you know a good takeout service downtown, you'd really help me out. I'm not looking forward to cook tonight."

"Anything you could possibly want food-wise is at your fingertips here, Aidan," Dean told him. "I seem to recall there's a really good kabob restaurant in that part of the city, but I don't remember the name. Listen, before you go," Dean put a hand on his arm, "I really am glad you're here Aidan. I'm sure I don't deserve to have felt any sadness or loss after I left Dublin, but I really did. I got to a very low point..." his voice trailed off. "Anyway," he shook it off, "would it be asking too much if I could just _hug_ you? Before you leave?"

But at once it was obvious he'd overstepped his bounds. Aidan took an uncomfortable step back. "...Maybe tomorrow or the day after that," he said. "Not right now." He wasn't going to endure Dean that close and not want to kiss him. "Sorry. I'll check online for a place to eat, it's okay." He shuffled back. "See you tomorrow?"

"All right," Dean nodded, silently kicking himself for his stupidity. "See you tomorrow, Aidan."

When the brunet left, Dean practically dove into his office and locked the door. "Stupid gob!" he told himself in the mirror. "What the fuck were you thinking?!"

"So what _were_ you thinking?" Lee looked up where he leaned against his desk, amused, as he played with the empty cup idly.


	11. H

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lee makes a confession to Dean. Graham makes his move. Dean runs into an old friend.

"Oh, Christ!" Dean was startled. "You scared me. I hadn't expected you to still be in the office, Mr. Pace. Uh, what _are_ you still doing in the office? It's nearly seven."

"Are you trying to tell me the time?" Lee looked at him, "because I'm well aware it's nearly seven. I have to pick up my dinner at the door in five minutes' time. You haven't answered my question."

"Why have you brought Aidan here, after all this time?" Dean answered his question with a question of his own. "It's going to be very challenging for me, having him around."

Lee raised an eyebrow. "You recommended him. He's done great work at the Santa Monica lab, and a job opened up. I thought I'd be doing you a favor. If you want me to send him away to a different location..."

Dean shook his head. "I know you know that he and I were...well, _involved._ In Dublin, five years ago. _Very_ involved, Lee."

"I am aware of that. I sent you there to _get_ involved. A job well done, even though he didn't turn out to be the man we were looking for." Lee was a patient man. He put the cup down. "You think you don't understand why I want to know what you were thinking just there, am I right? I'll be honest with you, I'm not going to allow any unprofessional behavior here at the office. But as for what you two do outside of that, I feel I'm partly to blame for having gotten you two into that position. Don't worry overly about the rules."

"I won't do anything to jeopardize my job, Lee, if that's what you're worried about. I promise," Dean told him, gathering some items together to put in his briefcase. "Listen," he turned to Lee, "how worried should I be about this Graham McTavish prison break business?"

"Ah. That's actually why I came here. Adam contacted me that you refused to go off the grid like he suggested. Did he tell you I encouraged him to prompt that?" Lee looked at Dean with concern. "The answer is, very worried. We have no clue as to Graham’s whereabouts, though there have been sightings of some of his known accomplices in the neighborhood." He paused. "One of them was in the parking lot this morning."

"Adam and I had a bit of a falling out, I'm afraid," Dean rubbed at a spot between his eyes where a headache was forming. "We haven't been communicating very well. I was going to request a different handler, in fact. Is there anyone else available?" 

He'd have to be on his guard traveling home. But he refused to live in fear. "I'll be safe, Lee," he assured his boss.

The look on Lee was nothing less than confused. "A different handler? Are you serious? You're being transferred in a week time. Can't you hold out one more week? Oh, and no you're not. I'm assigning you a driver to get you wherever you need to go. That's not open for discussion."

"Lee," Dean blushed, "I think I submitted that transfer request a bit too hastily. I was planning to withdraw it in the morning. I can do that...right?" He scratched his neck uncomfortably. "And I don't need a babysitter."

Lee blinked. "You're kidding, right?"

"No," Dean murmured guiltily. "No to both."

"Jesus," Lee took a deep breath. "Very well. Since you're as headstrong as an ox anyway. But know that I'm not happy about this." He looked up. "Are you all right though? You look like something's up."

"I only submitted it three hours ago. I mean, it's not like you had time to act on it or anything, right?" Dean asked him. "I'd feel awful if you'd already started." Dean sank into the chair across from Lee. "It's Aidan, Lee. His being here, after all this time. I—I'm not thinking clearly. But he says he wants me to stay. That maybe we can work it out. That's reason enough for me not to go. When I was with him, I thought he was the one. I still do."

Opposite him, Lee softened. "It's not yet arranged, don't worry." Which was a lie, but what Dean didn't know couldn't hurt him. "You're still in over your head, aren't you? I thought, by now, things would have calmed down a little. I'm glad I picked him for the job, in that case. Just, try to stick with this choice this time?"

"I plan to," Dean told him. "I know I caused you, and the agency, a lot of trouble five years ago when I went AWOL. I won't do it again. I love my job, Lee. I love what I do. You know that, right?"

"And if he leaves you?"

Dean's eyes clouded over, as if a storm were approaching. "If he does, I guess it'll be because I deserve it. I'm going to do it right this time, Lee. I don't want him having any doubts about who I am and how I feel."

Lee nodded. "You've grown. That's good to know. Listen, I've got a driver parked outside. Do me a favor and please let him take you home, if only for tonight. I'll get off your case tomorrow, deal?"

"Okay," Dean agreed. "But my car's in the parking lot. He'll have to bring me back in tomorrow morning, too." He picked up his slick leather briefcase. "And we have to stop for pizza on the way home. I'm starving."

"That's not a problem." Lee was far too pleased with Dean agreeing to the driver, if only overnight. "I'll let him know you're on your way. Thank you. I know you don't think much of this, but it makes me feel much better about this situation. It's not a situation I'd put any of my agents through, let alone one of my finest." Apart from the bout of indecision plaguing said agent today. He raised himself. "My dinner should be here. I'll walk with you."

They walked in silence for a few moments, but the awkwardness of the elevator prompted Dean to ask. "I've been wondering, Lee...your decision to take a desk job, when you were so clearly cut out for field work. You're still so young, too. I guess what I'm trying to say is, based on the way you've been paying special care to my concerns, I can't help but wonder if maybe ...did you meet someone, in the field? Were you in love?"

For a long time, Lee chose not to respond. When he did, it was a low, "I am your boss, Dean. Be careful with what you ask me." The elevator stopped on the third floor for no reason; nobody got in. When the doors closed again, Lee spoke again. "Yes. A long time ago. As fruitless as yours with Turner was supposed to be, except for me, I never found the person again. Praise your luck that I happened to think about him when the job opened, or I'm afraid you would have stayed where I am still."

"Boss or no," Dean put a hand on Lee's arm, for he felt awkward reaching for the tall man's shoulder, "your secret's safe with me. If you ever want to talk about it—or anything—I'm here." 

He allowed Lee to walk into the parking lot first. "Who's my driver?"

Lee smiled. "Mr. McKellen. He's been my trusted driver for years, and he has no problems with you borrowing him for a short while. I'll leave you here. By the looks of it, I've kept someone waiting, and I'm very hungry." Lee didn't mean that, either, though he sensed Dean didn't want him pushing his boundaries. "Mr. McKellen will be waiting at your regular parking spot. Have a good night, Dean."

"See you tomorrow, Lee," Dean said in parting. As he walked towards his car, he noticed a dark sedan parked next to it. As he approached the driver side window, it rolled down. "You must be Mr. McKellen," he ventured with a smile. "I'm Dean O'Gorman. Thanks for doing this. Lee seems to think I need looking after this evening."

"Just a precaution," the older man said graciously. "Call me Ian, Mr. O'Gorman, and do get in."

The door veered open with a slight push. The man sat expectantly, but like he had all the time in the world. "Where to?"

"M Street, in Georgetown," Dean told him. "I can direct you when we get closer. It's very nice to meet you, Ian. If I call for a pizza now can we pick it up on the way?"

Ian looked at him slowly. "Oh, there's no need." 

The doors locked at once, and the barrier between him and Dean slid to an airtight containment. From the car's speakers flowed a gentle melody of classical music.

The soft leather finally allowed Dean's body to relax after the stress of the day. After Ian shut the window between their compartments, Dean lay his head back against the seat and dug into his briefcase for his cell phone. As he pulled it out, he noticed his hand seemed to be moving in slow, blurry motion and that he felt a bit dizzy.

Dean had only seconds to come to the realization that Lee's trusted, seemingly grandfatherly driver was drugging him! His last conscious thought as he slid helplessly to rest against the door was of falling asleep in Aidan's arms in Dublin. Then, darkness.

\- - - - - 

When Dean woke up, light was streaming through the rafters and he lay on a moist, mossy wooden floor. Around him sounded voices in both Russian and English, mingling in a way that suggested everyone knew both languages and it was simply a matter of preference which they chose to reply with.

"Ah," a man closer to him said. He rattled a chain on the floor, indicating how trapped Dean was. "Awake at last. Welcome, Mr. O'Gorman! Nice to finally meet the man behind the name. You're quite well known amongst us, as you might have guessed."

Still groggy, Dean groaned as he tried to sit up. He thought he heard the voice of Graham McTavish in the mix—an unmistakable voice he would never forget—but clearly Graham had found himself some new associates.

His briefcase, jacket, shoes and tie were gone and he shivered at the chill, noting the manacle around his ankle. How long had he been here? And where was here?

"W-where am I?" he asked of the stranger next to him. His voice came out as little more than a croak, so he cleared his throat. "And who are you?"

"Oh, my name is unimportant." The man smiled, friendly enough, but the environment said more than enough; this was not a location Dean wanted to be in. "Nor is where you are. I hope you enjoyed your sleep. It will be your last real rest for a long time to come." The man got up and walked away, past two German shepherds on a leash, observing Dean with interest and ready to spring at the least provocation.

"Mr. McTavish!" the man called out. "Your guest is awake."

Dean shivered involuntarily as a half a dozen pairs of unfriendly eyes turned his way. He didn't recognize anyone except for—

"Hello, Dean," Graham McTavish, clad in a pair of jeans, a chambray shirt and work boots, crouched down next to him. "You look a little under the weather. To think, the last time I saw you, we were sharing a drink. Whiskey. Celebrating our mutual successes. I had no idea you were plotting my demise. Oh, you were _good_ , boyo," Graham reached in and patted him on the shoulder. "Very, very _good._ " His eyes twinkled, amusement mixed with anger and a bit of madness. 

"I thought you might have left the country by now," Dean told him, "instead of taking the time to deal with me." 

"Oh," Graham smiled, and said jovially, voice booming, "I'll always make time for an old friend!" 

Dean cowered away a bit. "You pulled quite a feat, escaping from North Branch, Graham," he told his former mark. "It's never been done before."

"Well, to be fair, I had some help," Graham gestured vaguely at the men gathered around the nearby table. "I made friends with some guards. Good men, just a bit misguided. Like we all are.” He chuckled and leaned in as if to confide in Dean, “I pay better than North Branch."

"Why am I here? What are you planning to do with me?" Dean felt compelled to ask, although he knew he wouldn't like the answer.

"I felt I knew you fairly well three years ago," Graham leaned in to push an errant stray hair from Dean's forehead and the blond flinched. "I know your biggest fear was losing someone you loved to addiction—that, or becoming an addict yourself. My friend Mr. Brophy just cooked up a nice batch of H. He gestured to the table behind him where a tall slender man with reddish hair was preparing an injection. "I thought you might enjoy a bit of heroin, Dean," McTavish raised his eyebrows. "Just a taste. See what all the fuss is about?"

Dean felt his heart seize. _No._

"Mr. Kircher?" Graham turned to the man who'd first spoken to Dean, "Help me hold him down. He's little, but don't let that throw you off. He's a strong little fucker. Jed," he called to his friend, "bring it!"

The man with the sparkling, happy eyes who'd initially greeted Dean moved towards him. He didn't bother pulling Dean to his feet, but instead straddled his waist, shoving Dean onto his back and putting a meaty forearm over his throat. Clearly, Kircher was one of the prison guards who'd aided in Graham's escape. Dean could barely breathe. 

Graham knew. He knew how to get to Dean, and effectively. "Arm's the best place," Graham cooed, taking hold of Dean's left arm, feeling at the crook for a vein. 

"Don't do this, Graham," Dean croaked. 

"I am absolutely doing this, O'Gorman," Graham lined up the syringe and sank the needle into Dean's vein, slowly depressing the plunger as Dean clawed futilely at Will Kircher's shoulder with the other arm. "This is the good stuff. So pure. You know I only carry the best. Consider yourself lucky. There are not many I offer this for free." 

Dean heard Graham's voice, as if from another room, as warmth flooded his entire body. God, it felt so _good._

"Unlock him and take into my bedroom," Dean heard Graham tell his men. "On the _bed,_ " he specified. 

Then Dean drifted off.

Strong hands deposited his upper body on the bed. The same two hands moved for his feet to hoist the other half up. If Dean had been half lucid, he would have deducted that he'd been dragged to this room by his shoulders, rather than properly lifted up. "—ent, Dean," a disembodied voice floated into his ears. "—ou listening?" He could barely keep his eyes open. The voice became impatient. "Hey! Look a—" before once again blurring into a haze.

A slap to his face woke him for a minute. He couldn't have been truly awake though, because he recognized the face in front of him, and he'd neither ever seen that face concerned for his well-being, nor was it supposed to be here, with Graham.

"At me, Dean!" the man hovered above him to demand full attention. "Listen. Are you listening? Christ, give me a sign here. I don't have much time. Don't make me blow my cover, you asshole."

Dean found himself fairly snug on a bed—Graham's, his recovering mind supplied—with Richard leaning above him. _Richard._ What was he doing here?

"I can't stop what is about to happen," Richard kept glancing at the door. "Sorry. Here's what I can do. A message. Tell m—"

The door opened.

Richard stared up. "Who?" he whispered under his breath, already pretending to be done with Dean. "Quickly."

Dean's addled mind could only come up with one name...the last person at the agency he'd spoken to before that ill-fated car ride. "L-Lee Pace," he murmured, wrinkling his forehead in confusion. _Richard? Here?_ He reached for the blue eyed man's hand, only to have it shrugged off.

"Oooh, he seems to like you, mate," Graham observed, entering the room and closing the door behind him. "Knowing your proclivities...do you want to stick around? Lend a helping hand?" the randy Scotsman gave Richard's ass a playful tap.

Richard's lips curved into a deep, foreboding smile. "Tempting." Yet he shook his head. "Not my type, I'm afraid. While I'm sure we could put a bag over his head to fix most of that, he doesn't look too well where it matters either. Though I'd love to see what you can do with it." He offered a polite bow that was nothing if not a mockery of what they were discussing.

Richard cast a quick glance at Dean. He never cared much for Dean's pathetic set of morals, but that repulsion was a lie. He'd often wondered what it would be like to mount him, back in Dublin. It wasn't why he stuck around. Richard too dreaded what Graham had planned. This way, he'd still have the knowledge and the chance to intervene, as long as it didn't ruin his cover. The agency needed his cover.

"This is the little bastard who sent me up the river," Graham told Richard, words a bit slurred from the copious whiskey he'd been drinking with his compatriots. "He was one of my best and brightest," Graham lamented. "Had me and everyone else eating out of his hand. Smart, quick, good-looking," the older man admitted. "But he works for the Central Intelligence Agency." 

Graham's face grew angrier, and he cupped Dean's chin with a rough hand. "He'd never touch the product...use it, I mean. Dean was all about clean living," Graham chuckled. "This is really going to put a dent in that philosophy, innit? I can't decide if I want to kill him with my bare hands or get him completely hooked."

He turned to Richard. "Either way, he's not going to like what happens next, is he?" Graham grabbed the waist of Dean's trousers and began unbuttoning, unzipping.

Richard shrugged. "Depends on what you're planning for him. I've been told you can be very likeable when you want to be. Not, I imagine, that you want to be likeable to this traitor." He added another knowing smile and found himself a chair, sitting back before lighting a cigarette in the most obscenely cultured way. "If you ask me, you doing this yourself is far too much honor for the bastard who gets your seed."

"He has it coming," Graham told the Brit. "He was an incredible tease, weren't you Deano?" he spoke to the insensate agent.

A few rough yanks and Dean's trousers and underwear were discarded. Graham rolled Dean over onto his stomach, clad only in an open dress shirt and dark socks. "Mmmm, nice. I always knew he had a great arse. Graham gave each globe a smack earning an indignant grunt from Dean. "You awake, Deano?" Graham leaned in to check on Dean's condition.

When he did, Dean shot out one hand and grabbed Graham by the collar of his shirt. "Yeah, I'm awake, you wanker." He swung the other fist around to punch the drunken Scot in the jaw.

But Dean's rally didn't last long, nor did his strength. "Oh, I like 'em feisty," Graham chuckled, straddling Dean's hips. "This one is not to be underestimated." He looked around for something with which to subdue Dean. "Hand me your tie, Armitage," he asked of Richard.

The tie slipped with ease and a tease from Richard's collar. Richard got up and offered it easily, but as he stood next to the bed and looked down, he furrowed his brows. "It's not very classy, taking a guy you just drugged. Unless I'm not seeing the big picture here."

"Since when I have been known for my class?" Graham questioned. "Any why do you care? You sweet on this one?" he asked the Brit. 

Dean, as his brain began to allow him lucid thoughts, began to war with himself. Richard was here. He might even be willing to help him. Yet, Richard was undercover, and he knew how important that was. If Richard were here to bring Graham in, that'd solve all his problems. He had to let Graham have his way with him. 

"You can fuck me all you like, Graham," he told his captor, words more than a bit garbled. "You _and_ your friend. It won't bring back the years you spent in jail. Or the customers, respect and revenue you lost while you were doing time. It won't get you anything but dirty sheets."

Dean knew it was going to hurt. Aside from Aidan's fingers and tongue, nothing else had ever been inside him. But, if it bought him time, he had to let things take their course.

"I'm okay with dirty sheets, Deano," Graham told him, manhandling Dean back onto his stomach and using Richard's tie to bind his hands together in the small of his back. "What I'm not okay with is being lied to—" the angry drug dealer punched Dean in the back of the head, earning a cry of pain, "—and set up by those pretending to be in my confidence." Another punch to Dean's jaw had him seeing stars. 

"As I'm on the run, I don't have any lubrication, to speak of," Graham hissed in Dean's ear. He looked around the room a bit and found a small bag Jed had packed for him. Inside were a few hygiene items, including, a tube of antibiotic cream. "That Brophy's a forward thinker," Graham told Richard. "And it'll keep the kid from catching cold."

Dean could taste blood in his mouth as Graham reached below his hips and yanked him up onto his knees.

Richard snorted as he put the bag away again, the single pathetic excuse for lubricant next to Dean on the bed. He sat back down. "He's still not attractive," he drawled, circling figures idly on the velvet of the seat. "But I'm starting to think he's asking for it."

Richard let that thought fester for a while. He took a long draft and sighed out contently. It was a nice enough charade, because he knew what Graham was going to go for, and as far as Richard knew, it was going to be the man's first time. Graham wouldn't go easy.

"I could get him slick for you," he put out there suggestively at last. "The man's front wasn't very appealing, but that ass..."

"I knew you were faking disinterest," Graham tossed the cream to Richard. "I'm going to go take a piss while I still can," he patted the Brit on the back as he passed him. "Don't hurt him...yet," he cautioned tipsily, slipping into the small bathroom attached to the bedroom.

As smooth as he could, Richard moved over to Dean—until Graham was out of hearing range. Then he shot closer, cursing, "Shit. I can't do much for you here, Dean. Either you want me to at least try to give you a stretch before that bastard takes you, or I can get you to pass out. Maybe he'll lose interest. What do you want me to do?" Dean might have been a pain in his ass years ago, but he didn't deserve this.

Dean swallowed thickly and blinked; a tear trickled from the eye Richard could see. "Both," he said quietly, but firmly "Do both...please."

There was no time to concern themselves with emotion. Richard took a pill from a small container in his pocket and nudged it against Dean's lips. "Don't worry, doesn't react to the heroin in your system. Trust me. I'll figure something out." He waited for Dean to pull the pill under his tongue.

When he did, Richard veered off the bed and cursed loud enough for Graham to hear. "Really, now?!"

"What's going on out here? Deano giving you a hard time?" Graham came out of the bathroom, stark naked in anticipation of his tryst, only to find Richard standing over an unconscious prisoner, looking concerned.

"I know I didn't give him that much. Not for his first taste," Graham said, patting Dean's face. "Is he faking?" he gave Dean's hair a yank; he rolled pliantly onto his side. He was well and truly unconscious. "Well, that puts a damper on the festivities. I'm not going to fuck him if he's not awake to feel it. And I want him to feel it," he leered at Richard. "He's a lightweight after all, I suppose. What say we go have some dinner and let him sleep it off? He can't leave without coming out this door," Graham indicated the windowless room. "Unless you want some more time alone with him, you kinky bastard."

"Oh, I'll get my time with him, I'll make sure of that," Richard raised one brow. "Fucking wanker. Couldn't get anything in before passing out like that." He gave Dean a frustrated shove, nearly sending him falling off the bed, and turned his back. "He's going to feel making me wait."

He took one more look over his shoulder. Dean looked almost peaceful, for the part where his hands were bound and he was still only wearing his shirt and socks. He felt relief when the door finally blocked their view.

Richard put his hands in his pockets. "Is this going to delay us?"

"Nah," Graham ran his belt through its loops and zipped up his jeans. "We'll bring him along if we have to. He'll fit pretty snugly into a packing crate, eh?" He chuckled. "Then I'll have something fun to unpack when we get to Russia."

On the table outside Graham's bedroom, Jed sat a tray with four syringes on it. "He gets one every 12 hours, per the big man," Jed told Richard. "Not enough to kill him of course. Just enough to put him in a world of hurt. I wouldn't want to be him."

"What is it?" Richard asked purely out of interest. "You'll knock him off-limits for me for two days straight. Leave me a window to nail him."

"Just fuck him, mate, if you want to fuck him. Graham's pretty sure he's never taken it up the ass. Might be so tight it's painful," Jed chuckled. "The heroin will loosen him up for you, mark my words."

"When are we leaving Maryland?" Jed wondered. "It can't be safe for us to hang around here so long."

"We've only been here for one reason," Richard supplied, his eyes on Graham for the answer. "If I get to have him up in the air or on some middle-of-nowhere tundra, either way is fine by me. And just so you know, I do have standards. As opposed to some of us, I prefer them lucid." He threw a filthy look at Jed—it wasn't an act that he couldn't stand him, and Graham seemed to take delight in their biting comments.

"Graham's talking about leaving in two days," Will supplied from his spot by the kitchen stove. "He's just getting the last of the paperwork together. Taking a ship from Inner Harbor is the last thing they'll suspect. And it'll be a long ride down through the Panama Canal, up to San Fran, then Anchorage, and finally Russia."

"Hope you like vodka," Jed grinned at Richard.

\- - - - - 

"He put in a transfer request, didn't he?" Adam asked Lee over lunch the next day. "That's why he's not here, right?"

The man looked at him before he got up. A gesture asked Adam to walk with him a little. That walk took them directly to the first available conference room, which Lee locked behind him. Only then did he allow himself to talk.

"Ian says he dropped him off at home last night. He reported it in this morning when he didn't find him home. Now, it's too early to make assumptions..." But, the silence implied, those assumptions would most likely be right. "I don't think this has to do with the transfer, Mr. Brown. I have my best men on it already, which I will join as soon as I finish my meal. But you'll be wise to keep this quiet. And the transfer. It's delicate knowledge. I'm afraid we've got a mole in our midst."

"Thank you, Lee," Adam pushed his glasses up his nose a bit. "I appreciate you telling me." He hurried back to the lunch room and cleaned up the area where he'd been eating. Then he rushed to his office and opened up the Human Resources directory.

_McKellen, Ian_ he typed, feeling quite guilty about it. Ian was really a very nice man. But he was the last person to see Dean. Adam decided he'd take the afternoon off and go over and check out Dean's apartment. He was one of the few others who knew the code to the door.

When he passed Aidan's office on the way out, their eyes locked and Adam nodded at him, but didn't speak. It was far too soon to get Aidan worried too.

\- - - - 

Dean awoke shaking, despite being under a layer of blankets and discovered himself next to a snoring Graham McTavish. It took him a moment to remember where he was and how he'd gotten there. He cursed to himself. His skin felt like it was crawling, and it wasn't because of Graham's presence. He was desperate to piss and noticed a small bathroom off Graham's side of the bed.

When he got up to walk to it, his knees ached, and continued to ache a bit more with every step. He made it to the bathroom and ended up sitting on the toilet to take the strain off his knees. _Jesus, what did they do to me?_ he wondered, voiding his bladder. Then he remembered the heroin.

Dean looked in the mirror. He had a bruise across his jaw and his eyes were a bit red. His wrists were encircled with bruises. He remembered Graham asking Richard for his tie so that Graham could secure him. He shuddered, then remembered what Richard had done for him.

He'd kept Graham from raping him.

He limped back into the other room. His clothes were gone. He knew that one the other side of the door was Graham's assorted group of cohorts. By then he was shaking so badly he needed to sit down on the bed.

Suddenly, there were two gentle knocks on the door and the tall redhead came in, carrying a syringe. "Good morning," he said to Dean. "Time for your medicine."

It was not until then that Dean realized Richard had been sleeping in the nearby chair with a gun in his hands all along. That was probably why he had been unbound, because he saw no other reason for him to share a bed with Graham unrestrained, without the threat that he'd throttle him in his sleep. Richard opened his eyes and looked at them both darkly.

"A window," he said with warning. "Not now, but in between this trip and the next. He owes me a round of fun. As does he to Mr. McTavish." What he meant to say was, _sorry Dean, I can't do anything for you here_. Richard was getting tired of apologizing. He bore no responsibility to Dean—they weren't even of the same agency. And one of these days people were going to notice.

"Hold him down," the redhead told him.

"Shouldn't we wake the boss first?"

"I'm on a strict schedule, Armitage. He doesn't need to be present for that. If he wanted to watch, he would have set an alarm."

Richard shrugged. "Your call." And he advanced on Dean.

"Don't do this," Dean stood and begged them, scanning the room for a way to escape. It looked very grim, especially with two men and a crime boss surrounding him. "Find a way to get me out of here," he said to Jed, "and I'll tell the authorities that you were undercover at the prison and that the escape wasn't something you orchestrated. I could get time taken off your sentence. Maybe get you off the hook completely."

He'd felt safer having his back to Richard, but that feeling of safety ended when Richard's solid arm went around his waist and held him securely. Who was he kidding? He wasn't going anywhere. 

He prayed that someone out there was looking for him as the needle sank into his arm. But even the praying stopped when the chemical hit his veins.

When the strength left his body, Richard lowered Dean's limp body back on the bed. "Twelve hours, right?" He straightened his cuffs and cracked his neck. "Good. That should give me enough time to check some final things before we get going." He headed for the door and opened it as long as the hint hit home that it wouldn't close until it was only Graham and Dean in the room. Richard could only hope Graham wasn't going to wake up soon, or he wouldn't be able to protect Dean from him.

As soon as he was out of the building and alone, Richard flipped open his phone. Quickly he sent a message off to a familiar number—too familiar for his taste, and pressed send.

"Dean O'Gorman. 39.00142, -77.24656. Almost moving."

\- - - - - 

Lee, in the middle of some training with Aidan when the text arrived, looked down in annoyance at the interruption. He frowned at the message and reached for a pen and paper, writing down the coordinates.

"Time to prove your usefulness, Turner," he handed Aidan the slip of paper. "Where will these coordinates put us? I need to know in ten minutes or less."

It might not have been the most intelligent question to ask a toxicologist, but Aidan stared at the numbers hard. He'd gone camping with his parents once. GPS coordinates were no problem for him. "Ten minutes?" He reached for Lee's laptop—his own wouldn't be there until next week. "May I?"

Less than a minute on the clock, he turned the screen around. On it showed a map of a warehouse in Baltimore, Maryland.

"About seventy miles away. Is this an emergency?"

"I'm afraid so, Aidan," Lee confided. "Have you had your firearms training yet?"

Aidan shook his head, immediately alarmed. Something was seriously wrong if they considered sending lab personnel into the field. He raised an eyebrow and leaned back. "Anything else I can help with?"

"Any medical training?"

"Medicine. Toxins. Explosives. That's all."

"I really would like to bring you along on this extrication," Lee told him. "How much has Dean told you about the drug dealer who escaped from prison on Wednesday?"

Aidan scrambled back at once. If he could recline further into his seat, he would have. "Not much, but he's high profile, isn't he?" The pieces started to fall into place. Dread filled Aidan. There was no real reason to have him on this case. He was inexperienced, he had no useful skills to speak of for field work, except—

"Dean's not really sick today, is he?"

Lee laced his fingers together and leaned forward. "No one's heard from Dean in about 24 hours. I sent him home with my driver, who claims to have dropped him off at home last evening. Dean wasn't there this morning. Obviously he hasn't come to work. There is some concern about his safety, yes. I just received a text from an unfamiliar number saying Dean's at the location you just researched for me. Quite quickly, I might add, and I thank you for that. We're going to send a small team to the location to see if the intel is accurate. Do you want to come along?"

Aidan was stunned. "And you're sitting here waiting for me? With all due respect, sir, shouldn't you be out there already?" He got up at once and moved to the door, worry etched into his face. "I don't know of what use I can be—", after all, wasn't he too emotionally invested?—"but if I'm all that's keeping you from going there now, we shouldn't wait a second longer."

The truth kicked in.

Dean was taken, potentially hurt. All at once, Aidan realized with an astonishing clarity that it wasn't what he wanted. Of course it wasn't what he wanted; but it cut him bone deep to the point of feeling like a man having wasted so many chances that he should have taken instead. "Come on," he urged. "Every second we waste...I assume someone's already checking the surveillance cams of his flat?"

"Adam went to his apartment this afternoon. Nothing seemed awry on that end. Nice to see you thinking like an agent, Turner," Lee nodded, appraising him. "I have some of the tech guys going over the footage right now. I do want you to go along with me, James and Adam to Baltimore. Pick up a med kit and a kevlar vest in the third floor supply room, just to be safe. Meet us on the roof at the helicopter bay in fifteen minutes." 

Aidan felt like he was tossed in the middle of a bad movie with a wry aftertaste; the deep end. He nodded distantly and rushed to the supply room. The kevlar fit poorly and stiffly, and when they gave him a gun he was forced to admit he didn't know how the safety went, after which the man behind the desk immediately took it out of his hand again. This wasn't Aidan's game. He didn't belong with the big guys. But he wasn't about to slow them down, either. So at ten minutes, he was at the deck and wondered if he had to mute his phone for this kind of situation.

As soon as Adam came walking over, he was sure he was in the right spot. Aidan was too nervous to be mad at him. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked.

"Why are you...?" Adam asked wide-eyed.

Aidan flushed. "Mr. Pace insisted. I don't know either." He pointed awkwardly at the first aid kit. "Don't get hurt. Okay?"

James arrived, zipping a lightweight jacket up over his vest. "Hello Adam, Aidan," he nodded to the pair. "Looks like our boy's gotten himself into a spot of trouble. This your first helicopter ride?" he asked Aidan, noticing the young man's discomfort.

Aidan shook his head. "I've flown a couple of times before." He didn't feel safe enclosing that his uncle was a pilot in the army and had stupidly promised him a lesson in flying a Tomcat one drunken night at a family party. Aidan had of course not been allowed in the Tomcat when the man sobered up, so he'd been given three sessions with the flight simulator as a substitute instead. "This is an anonymous tip we're operating on, right?"

As he said it, Lee arrived, and everyone boarded. Aidan put on his seat belt with shaking hands. He had no idea what they were going to find. 

Adam nodded to the affirmative in answer to Aidan's question, and put on his headphones.


	12. In The Warehouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The exciting rescue scene you've all been waiting for.

After they'd all gotten into their seats and the helicopter took off over the city, Lee spoke to them all via headphone coms.

"Yes, the tip was anonymous, but from someone who knew my number. I try not to discount any information that comes my way, especially when someone's life might be in danger. Graham McTavish is a genuine threat and is still at large. Whether that message actually came from Dean, someone trying to help us, or someone trying to trick us, we have to check it out. Stay tight and don't do anything crazy."

"Aidan," Lee continued, "I know you've only been with us a week, and I know only a bit about your history with Dean. We're glad to have you on the team. Dean would be happy to know you've come along to help him. He speaks very highly of you."

As the team looked at him, Aidan scratched his neck. "Anything to help," he offered lamely. "Beats sitting in the office waiting for feedback." And it did. By his estimate, depending on how well things would go at the assigned location, the plan could take up to several hours. The following things Lee said were repetitions of common procedures. While nobody paid close attention, as field agents were expected to know them by heart, Aidan was the only one trying to memorize it all.

By the time he looked outside, they were passing over countryside dotted with trees. Baltimore was on the horizon. Aidan was unready. He saw Lee on his right checking his gun and felt queasy, but he never said anything until the helicopter was losing altitude. That's when adrenaline kicked in. "Do I stay inside?" he asked.

"No," Lee smiled at Aidan's nervousness. "We're being met by a vehicle that'll take us to the site of the warehouse. It's by the harbor. We have a short drive ahead of us. When we get there, stay behind me. We'll be getting you firearms training by the end of next week. Every agent needs it for his own safety," he added.

They got out of the helicopter and took a quick elevator down to street level, where a black SUV met them. Lee gave an address to the driver and they were off.

"Don't worry," James turned to Aidan. "We'll do some thorough recon before we dive into any full-scale rescue mission. He'll be okay," James brown eyes twinkled.

Aidan looked outside. The closer they got to their location, the more nervous he felt. "All right," he gave in at last, "get me a gun, tell me how many bullets it's got and how to handle the security lock. I swear I won't use it unless I absolutely have to, but I don't want you having to babysit me while you should be focusing on other things."

"Oh, don't you worry," Lee told him, "we don't intend to babysit you, Turner. You're here to take care of Dean, if he's injured. He trusts you." He accepted a spare firearm in a holster from Adam and put it over Aidan's shoulder. "This is the safety," he showed Aidan. "This clip holds twelve rounds. I don't expect you'll have to use any, but I'd rather you be safe than sorry." He handed a lightweight blue jacket to Aidan. "Put this on over your shirt and vest. Makes you look less like a fed," he chuckled.

The SUV pulled to a stop. "We walk from here," Lee told them, pointing the way down the block. The place looked like a typical tourist area. "It's not far to the docks."

Aidan tagged behind when they got out of the car. He looked around for any cameras—if he couldn't be very useful in other ways, an extra pair of eyes would always come in handy. There wasn't anything within clear sight, nor were there signs of potential surveillance near the floor. "Send the number a message," he suggested. "Give them the location of a place we can monitor without being seen ourselves."

Aidan hoped he wasn't saying something dumb. It just seemed like the most logical thing to do.

Lee wrinkled his forehead. "If it's a trap, that could damn us. But I've always believed in the kindness of others. Let's see if we get a response before we forge ahead."

 _We're here,_ he unknowingly texted to Richard. _Four man team w/ medic. Where is safe entrance to warehouse?_

There came no answer for a long time. Just as they figured they weren't going to get anything, the phone buzzed.

Another set of coordinates flashed on the screen. "Four men is risky," a message accompanied them. "Twelve here. I'll leave the door open. That's all I can do. PS. He's out cold."

"I don't like these odds one bit," Lee told his team. "Give me a moment."

He texted back: _How do I know I can trust you?_

_I only let you down once, Lee. You can take me in if you see fit, but don't blow my cover._

Richard looked outside as he opened the door. Four people wasn't nearly enough. This was just a recon operation, not a retrieval or an arrest. He cursed Lee inwardly. There was no-one outside. Sauntering back in with a smoke like he'd just gone for a piss, he glanced to his left to Graham's door. Ajar as well. The man was still asleep, Dean lying next to him. It was like handing them on a silver platter.

"Oh, Christ." It was out of Lee's mouth before he could control it. 

"What is it, boss?" Adam wondered.

"I know him. The source of our mysterious intel. If he says it's good, it's good," Lee told them. "He says there's a dozen men in there. And Dean's...well, he's not in a position to assist. We're going to need more men. Adam, can you run a thermal on the warehouse from here?"

"Sure thing," Adam knelt and got out his laptop. A few button clicks had him linked in to a satellite with thermal imaging capabilities. "Give me the coordinates?" Lee did, and a moment later a hazy image appeared on the screen.

"The dark green is the building," Adam explained, obviously for Aidan's edification. "The lighter green areas are heat signatures. People," he frowned. The larger room seemed to have nine or ten light green circles. There were three more in the smaller room on the right hand side of the screen. "Yeah, Lee. A dozen at least."

Lee phoned for backup. "Back to the car," he told the trio. "This is suicide."

 _Try to take care of him,_ Lee texted Richard. _I'll keep you out of trouble._

"What about Dean?" Aidan kept looking from the warehouse back to Lee as they retreated. "He's in there, isn't he?" Were they going to leave him there? Apparently the anonymous man from the message was an old friend of Lee's, but that didn't explain much. Dean was in there. In each of his many imaginations, he was in a different kind of peril, though there wasn't one where he was simply safe. "What are we going to do?"

"The guy on the inside said he's unconscious. He didn't go into detail. If he thought the injuries were bad enough for instantaneous rescue, he would have said so. He's going to have to sit tight until we can get a larger team. I'm not endangering you three," Lee said resolutely. "Keep monitoring the thermal, Adam," Lee told him. "It's our best view of what's going on inside."

\- - - - - 

Richard couldn't afford to send another text message—there were only so many times he could lie to them about texting a teenage son on a field trip in Rome—but what was taking them so long? He looked around. The door was still ajar. Nobody had closed it, and nobody currently blocked it. Everyone was working hard to fix the upcoming passage south and on to Russia. Nobody paid him or the door any attention.

Four people. What was Lee thinking? Couldn't he have figured out that where Dean was, Graham would also be? 

As if his thoughts could be sensed, the door to the bedroom opened and Graham walked out, tucking his shirt into his jeans. "Ah, Richard," he grinned, as Richard was closest to the door. "Fetch me a cup of coffee, will you?"

While Richard departed to the make-shift kitchen, Jed approached Graham. "It's time for him to have some more," he jerked his head at Dean, who lay on his side, a sheet pulled up to his waist. His eyes were closed. "But I'm not sure he can handle it. He doesn't look so good, Graham."

"He's not here on vacation, Brophy," Graham's voice held a warning tone, "and I'm not dragging him along to Russia, if you catch my drift. More. _Now._ I'll help hold him if he wakes up and struggles."

But Dean barely opened his eyes as Jed took hold of his arm. He was floating and it felt wonderful. _This wouldn't be a half bad way to go,_ he thought to himself, welcoming the pinch of the needle and the disconnected warmth that followed.

\- - - - - 

Outside the warehouse, Aidan felt himself become more and more frustrated by the delay. It was taking too long, far too long. "When is backup coming?" he asked again, this time to Adam in favor of not bothering Lee, who needed every second given to him. "We don't have the time."

He too knew there were too many people in that building to safeguard the lives of each of their team members. But hadn't the message said not to take too long? Here they were, sitting idle, while inside Dean's safety felt less and less likely.

Just then he heard the sound of helicopters and perked up like the rest of the team.

"There you'll have them," said Adam. "Get ready for the command to go inside."

James counted the reinforcements as they arrived. Eighteen in total. Enough to take down a dozen men—but would they be able to ensure Dean's safety if Graham McTavish was determined to kill him?

"I think Dean's here," Adam tapped the screen, showing the smaller room on the right. "It's the only heat signature that hasn't moved at all in the past hour.

\- - - - 

"Did you hear helicopters?" Will asked Jed. "Maybe I'm paranoid, but I swear I did."

"Hard to hear anything over the ruckus this lot makes," Jed told him with a smile.

"Still," Will canted his head towards the door, "I'm going to check it out."

Richard sauntered back into the main hall with a can of energy drink to his lips. He quirked an eyebrow at Will's curiosity, masking up his nervousness expertly. His phone sent a quick buzz to Lee from his pocket. There was a reason he held onto his old-fashioned button phone, and right now he praised never having traded it for a more modern version.

"What's going on?" he asked Jed, before throwing a more worried look at Dean. "Doesn't look good, that one. You're sure he'll hold?"

"Graham doesn't exactly want him to," Jed informed Richard. "You know that. You seem overly concerned about him, mate. Don't like getting your hands dirty, do you? Between Will's paranoia and your concern for our prisoner, I'm starting to question Graham's choices."

"It's a waste of fine meat," Richard shrugged. "And I was actually under the assumption that O'Gorman was going to be our entertainment for a time to come. I guess not. Hey, you got a lighter for me? I can't seem to find mine."

The door opened again, but, instead of Will, there was nobody there. Richard knew enough. "Crap," he hissed, still in character, and ducked out of the way. Jed looked over his shoulder too late. A tranquilizer gun knocked him out cold before he could make a noise.

Aidan pressed himself flat against the back of the door. His heart was pounding in his throat. He wasn't a field agent. He wasn't. "Where's Dean?" he asked Adam, who didn't respond. Instead he signaled the larger part of the group to the right.

Richard quickly ducked into the room where Graham was holding Dean. 

"They’ve found us," he hissed the crime boss. "Brophy and Kircher are already down. Please tell me this room has another way out."

As he said it, he felt a gun press against his neck, and one aimed over his shoulder at Graham.

"I wouldn't try it," said the cold voice of Lee. "On your knees, both of you."

Adam entered the room behind Lee, his gun trained on Graham. 

"You're not going to enjoy your next home as much as North Branch," he told the big man, eyes searching Dean for signs of life. "Aidan, get in here!" he called, as James proceeded to secure Graham with a pair of handcuffs.

Richard's eyes widened with confusion when he saw Aidan enter the room, carrying a medical bag. He quickly hid his surprise under the bravado of a collared criminal. "I supposed telling you I'm innocent is a waste of time?" he smiled at Lee as the agent produced a pair of handcuffs.

Lee had a good poker face; Aidan's was not that skilled in masking his surprise. He whipped his head around. It was good Graham wasn't looking at him, because his expression was such a giveaway that he could blow Richard's cover in a single glance. He scurried around both of them, wary all the while that he could be attacked from an unexpected corner, and crept onto the bed, his eyes growing wider as he checked out Dean's despondent state. His pulse was slow, but regular, however, nothing Aidan did drew him a response. 

"What did you do?" he threw accusingly at Graham. "What the fuck did you do, you bastard?"

"Just a little payback," Graham smiled at the obviously distraught agent. "He fucked me over, I fucked him back. Don't you worry," he told Aidan as James led him out of the room. "It'll wear off."

Left alone with the CIA agents, Richard said quietly to them, "It's heroin. Graham's given him a few doses since your man brought him here. It was your driver, the old fellow," he told Lee. "Graham paid him handsomely."

The sound of Aidan's voice roused Dean somewhat. Shivering, he reached out a trembling hand in Aidan's direction. "Aid?" his voice sounded far away and child-like. "I wanna go home."

"You're going home," Aidan tried to give him a sense of comfort, despite the chills crawling his back. "As soon as we're safe outside, we're going to get you home. You're okay now. They're not going to hurt you any more." He had no idea where to start. The first aid kit seemed a good enough start, but the bandages were useless and the many kinds of pain killers weren't much help either. The damage had been done. "Couldn't you have done something?" he hissed angrily at Richard. "I don't know why you're here, but I can't believe this is what you wanted. If it is, you're a bigger scumbag than I expected."

To Dean, he softened. "Can you walk if I help you?"

In the background he heard shouting and, more disturbingly, gunfire. It wasn't why he was here and surprisingly, he had no trouble blocking it out. "Adam!" He looked up. "We need to get him to a hospital."

Dean's head cleared a little as he tried to sit up, but failed. "Richard helped me, Aidan. Kept Graham from—," he shivered and pulled the sheet tighter around himself. "He called Lee." Dean raised his eyes to meet with Richard's. "He did good. You did good."

"You owe me one now, O'Gorman," Richard couldn't help but smile as Lee guided him out of the room.

"He's still a wanker," Dean groaned, laying his head down. "So dizzy. Where's my clothes?"

Aidan hadn't noticed it before. With dread he lifted the sheets, then quickly wrapped them tighter around Dean. "There's no time for that. Keep this around you." Heroin. They'd given him heroin—multiple doses. What kind of person did that?

"You owe him nothing." Aidan tried to support Dean enough to try and raise himself again. He looked at Adam for help. Together, they made sure he got to the door. Dean was none too helpful during the process.

"Are we clear?" Aidan whispered.

Adam looked round the corner. He smiled. "Not yet, but soon. Do you think he can hold on until then?"

"He'll have to."

Aidan bit his lip. He kept one hand on his gun while slowly the noise outside subsided.

"I am _here_ , you know," Dean's attempt at humor fell flat when he nearly fell over himself. "Quit talking about me like I'm in a coma."

Despite the effects of the drug, Dean was acutely aware of Aidan and Adam flanking him—having to touch him, _hold him_ —when neither really wanted to be anywhere near him. And rightfully so. But he needed them both right then. He'd never felt so helpless in his life.

"Wish I had a gun," he muttered.

"Where would you carry it?" Adam joked. 

"In my hand, asshole," Dean nudged him. 

"You're not getting a gun," Aidan declined the transparent request at once. "I'm not interested in getting shot in the foot." He'd still be a better shot than Aidan, but that was something Dean didn't need to know. Waving a finger from left to right in front of Dean’s line of vision, he tried to check the response.

"He just had a shot," Aidan confided to Adam. To Dean he said, "Count to twenty for me. Clearly."

It was good for nothing other than keeping him busy until they reached the helicopter. The intercom announced through the static, some thirty feet away from the door, "Situation under control. Sweep thoroughly and send in investigation."

Dean lost consciousness.

Adam holstered his gun and quickly moved to help Aidan catch Dean when he fell. 

"I don't think I can carry him," the smaller man admitted, in consternation. "Aidan, can you?"

"I'm not letting him lie down," Aidan fired back at once. He did his best to keep Dean upright. Dean's presence made his knees buckle in all the wrong ways. He hated seeing him so weak. It sent a spike of worry through him and made him wish he hadn't been there. It took him a lot of effort to get him into the helicopter. That's when he could finally let go.

Aidan closed his eyes.

\- - - - 

There was not a spark of anger left in him. But he didn't get a chance to tell Dean that for three whole weeks, his desk too empty whenever Aidan passed it, as Dean went through rehabilitation.

In his absence, he requested one day, out of the blue, if he could talk to Richard instead.

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise," Richard smiled as Aidan sat down across from him in the conference room. "I was hoping to see you before I went home."

Richard had been in the custody of the CIA for debriefing as soon as Lee skillfully separated him from the rest of Graham's cohorts.

"How is Dean faring?" he asked the younger man. "Did he get sorted out?"

"He's alive." Aidan put his hands in his pockets, but the smile he offered was kind. "I haven't heard from him since he went into the rehab, but I've been told he's doing fine." He nodded at Richard. "Where did you come from all of a sudden? I thought you were KGB."

"I am," Richard admitted. "In their drug enforcement division. I was undercover for a bit with Graham before he got put away the first time. Before Jed and Will broke him out of prison, they contacted me and said he was trying to get some of the old gang back together to start up operations. It was too good an opportunity to pass up," he shrugged. "I was in the right place at the right time, I suppose."

Richard leaned back and crossed his arms. "You're working for the CIA now? How remarkable."

"My place is in the lab," Aidan was quick to supply. "Mr. Pace more or less badgered me into coming along. He ah," he looked out the window, "Dean recommended me when he left Ireland, five years ago. Apparently, Mr. Pace saw fit to act on it. I didn't know Dean was CIA until my first day here. Which was only a few weeks ago, ironically. Talk about getting thrown into it head first. But you knew, didn't you? You knew all along." His eyes scrutinized Richard now. "I was business to you."

There was no malice in Aidan's words. He got up to get himself a coffee and got Richard his coffee the way he used to drink it back in Dublin.

"You were," Richard conceded, "business to me. But I really did enjoy your company." He felt his throat thicken as he watched Aidan's long fingers open three sugars and put them into his black coffee. _He remembered._

"Thank you," he said, accepting the mug and not making a big deal out of how much it meant to him. "I was only doing my job. Trying to take in the bad guys. I never for one minute believed _you_ were a bad guy, Aidan."

"But you had to have when you found out I could make it. I assume you know about that, since you threatened my friend. If it wasn't for you, I would never have found a job in a different country. He's clean now, by the way. I don't think he'd like to see you again, so please don't visit him if you're in the neighborhood some time, okay?"

Aidan played idly with the drawstrings on his shirt. One of the perks of lab work was that there wasn't much of a dress code. He enjoyed being surrounded by lab rats as well as sleeve-tattooed wiz kids. He had considered asking this from the start, but it took him effort to ask at last.

"Was it ever not just business for you? What if you met someone you really liked? Isn't it hard when you're undercover to continue on the next job when you're leaving an old life behind?"

"The fact that you figured out how to synthesize Milk never quite made it into my reports," Richard told him. "But I could tell someone now, if you like," he grinned. "I must have had a soft spot for you, after all."

"In my line of work becoming attached is...well, it's hard to avoid. But I've only ever met one person on the job that I would have considered _The One,_ " he admitted. "A fellow agent, but for another agency."

The lighthearted flattery made Aidan smile. This was the Richard he knew. It was nice to see things of him that weren't a facade, meant to deceive. "He or she?" he asked. "I've never bought you going for just guys, you know."

"Well, I was once married to a woman, as you know. But this particular agent...he was a man." Richard wasn't sure how much he could tell Aidan about his relationship with Lee. Lee had only over the past several days begun to thaw a bit. "Much like when Dean and I came to Dublin to case you out, this fellow and I were sent to investigate the same suspect. We had an instantaneous connection."

Richard smiled fondly. "Life would have been a lot simpler if we worked for the same organization...but it wouldn't have been nearly as exciting."

The Brit sat forward with interest. "So, you and Dean. Have you mended fences? Stopped denying the chemistry?"

Aidan was taken by surprise, but then he laughed. "It's a little weird hearing that from you. I mean, you did everything you could to keep us apart, while you two could have been working together instead. But you deliberately tried to keep me away from him. You even went as far as to say you wanted me. If I'd given in, would you have really gone there?"

He tilted his head. "What happened between you and this other agent? Still seeing each other?"

"I'm willing to answer one of those questions, but not both. You pick," Richard sat back, a sly smile playing on his face.

"The second," Aidan replied at once, intent on bouncing the intended play back as a jab at Richard's pride. "You and him."

"In answer to your question, circumstances have drawn us back together quite recently, in fact," the look on Richard's face was the look of someone in love. "But it's going to be an uphill battle. One I don't mind engaging in. He's worth it."

Aidan stared, before he laughed in good nature. "Look at you. Even the cunning Richard Armitage—if that's your last name—is a fool when it comes to love. I wish you the best of luck, I really do. It's good to talk to you again, without you pretending you want me. We should do this more often."

All the while, he had managed not to talk about Dean. Aidan felt proud of himself. It wasn't why he had wanted to talk to Richard.

"Oh," Richard put down his empty mug, "and in answer to your other question...I would have totally gone to bed with you. I've grown a bit since then, though. Now I actually respect the boundaries of true love," he assured him. "I didn't realize what was going on between you two back then was so serious. It was, though. You know that, right?"

Aidan choked on his own coffee. When he stopped spluttering, there was only one deduction he could make. "You hadn't met him yet, back then, had you?"

He averted his eyes at the next question however. "...I don't know what it is, Rich. We've not talked for five years, and it doesn't help that he just up and left, one day. It was serious. To me, it was. Now, we've got a lot of patching up to do."

"I met him about ten years ago," Richard told Aidan. "He'd told me, in no uncertain terms, that he wanted nothing to do with me. He took a desk job, so there was little to no chance of us running into one another in the field. Seems I tend to ruin lives," Richard said apologetically. "I was upset and very lonely and bitter when you met me in Dublin. I'm sorry about that."

"Dean and I might have been on opposite sides, but one thing was abundantly clear. That man? Crazy about you. Lee told me that when—" Richard stopped talking abruptly, skin turning pink. "Just, know that he loves you."

A weak nod was Aidan's response. He was overcome with the sudden need to see him. It had been too long, and to know that someone you'd given up had been brought into your life again, and something as impersonal as a treatment was what got in the way, it was torture. "Does he love you?" he asked instead of talking about Dean.

"I think so," was Richard's answer. "I _hope_ so. Now that I've seen him again, it's awakened something in me. Something I thought I'd buried under work—and pride. But I want him, I do. It will be next to impossible to walk away from him again." 

"You talk about walking away from him. Are you with him now?" Aidan leaned back. "You know," he confided, "I never expected you to find someone. I thought you'd be the eternal bachelor, classy but not looking for commitment. But I hope he does want you that way. If only," he added in jest, "to witness what I missed out on."

Richard was pretty sure Lee didn't want anyone knowing about them, or their possibly rekindling romance. 

"You haven't visited Dean since the raid?" Richard marveled. "Why not? It's been three weeks. He's probably going mad not seeing you."

For the first time since the start of their otherwise amicable conversation, Aidan showed his displeasure at Richard's words. "It's not for lack of trying. He's in a closed facility. That means no visitors, or letters or anything. I mean, have you?"

"Of course not," Richard quickly told him. "But I'm not the man he loves. Funny, I didn't take you for the type to let little things like 'the rules' stop you." 

Richard smiled. "You need to drive out there, Aidan."

"...I've done that already." A frailty emanated from the words. "It's a few more days now. If McTavish hadn't gone and gotten him addicted, none of this would have happened. But all I can do is wait it out and hope his stay doesn't get prolonged. At least they keep me up to date about his progress." Was it strange to admit that he longed to kiss him? That he counted not by days but by half days? Three and a half more. That Sunday. Aidan had already asked the next three days as optional days off, even offered to work on Saturday if it posed a problem to any deadlines.

"Do you think—We'll be able to fix this, right?"

"Do you want that? For it to be fixed?" Richard wondered. "Because if you do, I have no doubt that everything will just fall into place for you. Maybe we'll all get a happy ending," he said wistfully.


	13. Geology, Gems & Minerals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has recovered from his experience in captivity. Aidan goes to pick him up and they spend the afternoon (and evening) together.

September had rolled over into October while Dean was in Sagebrush. The grounds of the rehab were gorgeous. The sky was azure blue and cloudless. Northern Virginia was full of pines and seasonal trees now dressed with leaves of scarlet, yellow, orange, brown and even _vermillion._ Just thinking of the word made him ache for Aidan.

He sat on the patio on a stone bench; next to his small suitcase was a jack-o-lantern one of the craftier residents had carved. It smelled like Halloween; the smell itself was therapeutic. He even had a tiny bag of candy corn to give to Aidan when he arrived, although he wasn't sure yet if he was going to actually give it to him. To be honest, he was terrified that Aidan was the one coming to pick him up. 

He'd lost a little weight, due to a lengthy bout of nausea and vomiting as he detoxed, but he'd managed to get some sun, so he didn't look too sickly. The staff had been wonderful to him through it all, and he'd gained a new appreciation for yet another group of people who helped combat the seemingly insurmountable drug problem.

Still, much to his personal disgust, his body had loved the feeling of being high. A very small piece of him craved the sensation, even now. He took in a deep lungful of the crisp, autumn air and tried to drive the feeling away by eating a piece of candy corn. The taste made him smile, and so did the sight of a silver four-door coming up the wide driveway. He could see Aidan's silhouette in the driver's seat and his heart leapt in his chest.

"Hey," he said, hopefully, as Aidan got out of the car and came towards him.

Aidan on his part didn't know how to respond. He noticed Dean's loss of weight at once, but more than that, they hadn't been on very good terms when Graham got free. Not that that still mattered to Aidan; the weeks alone had been enough to forgive Dean for disappearing, driven away by the simple fact that he missed him. Dean didn't know that, though. To him, they were still at that point.

"Hey," Aidan smiled and leaned in for a hug that he hoped wouldn't be turned down. "I wanted to bring you something, but I was afraid you'd think flowers were too girly. Sorry." Empty-handed, he added, "Last time I was here was at night. It's really beautiful during the day. Did you go outside a lot?"

Dean didn't feel like answering questions. When he saw Aidan preparing to hug him, he didn't hesitate; he threw his arms around Aidan's neck and shoulders like a drowning man clinging to a buoy. "Don't need presents," he managed, voice hoarse with emotion and tears threatening to fall. "Just you."

Dean held Aidan much longer than the other man was probably comfortable with, but he just wasn't ready to let go. "I-I'm sorry," was what he said when he finally pulled away. "It's lonely here."

Aidan smiled and pulled him back in. It was okay. He didn't mind. "More than three weeks," he whispered in re-found comfort. "It's been far too long. Everyone at the office misses you like crazy." _I missed you like crazy_. "How about we get your stuff in the car and I'll drive you wherever you want to go, just for today?"

"I know where I want to go," Dean smiled, picking up his bag and placing it in the trunk. "Do you like museums? Because I would really like to go to a museum." The relief that flooded though Dean was better than any chemical substance. He felt if he could just have a dose of Aidan regularly, the cravings would maybe go away.

"I expected pizza or something," Aidan chuckled. He opened the door and got in behind the wheel, waiting for Dean to say good-bye to the facility for what would hopefully be for good. "We can do any museum. Which one?" It was a company car, so he had navigation installed; finding his way around wouldn't be a problem.

For Dean's sake, he didn't light a cigarette when he really wanted to. Aidan had been a wreck of nerves. He could do with properly getting rid of the last remains of stress in his system. "They gave me firearms training," he said in a poor attempt at conversation. "It was terrible. They had dummies and told me to shoot kneecaps. I don't think that was part of the actual training."

"I would have liked to have seen that," Dean told him. "Listen, I'll take you to the firing range sometime, give you tips those stodgy ex-Marines don't think to mention. It'll make it a lot easier for you. It's hard to hit a target with those cyborgs breathing down your neck. Head to the Museum of Natural History," Dean smiled. "Downtown D.C. I'll get you there. It's kind of a happy place for me. I think you might like it too. And pizza is not out of the question."

"I wasn't made to shoot people or get the chance to. Mr. Pace just keeps trying to push me in that direction. He's been mentioning making me a handler. I don't have a clue what a handler does." Aidan looked terribly lost when he said it. He geared up the car and left the navigation stowed away. Maybe they’d get lost. He felt like getting lost. "I've never been there before. I'm not really the kind of person for a museum, so surprise me. I—look, is it okay if I ask you how you've been? Or do you rather want to talk about other things?"

"Everyone who has a full-time job in-house, which you do, eventually ends up becoming a handler. It's just a little extra something you do on top of your regular duties. Like Adam. He's a linguist and encoding expert, but he's also my handler. Well, probably not anymore, but anyway. Handlers keep tabs on what their assigned field agent is up to, help them with information, keep them grounded. You'd be a great handler, Aidan. You're so good with people," Dean told him, all the while looking out at the countryside as if he couldn't get enough of his freedom.

"I've been sick, mostly," Dean turned to him finally. "I had a hard time getting out of bed the first week or so. It was like," he gave it a moment's thought, "it was like the worst flu you can imagine. I ached all over, every time I moved. I was dizzy, puking. And the worst thing—the worst—was the knowledge that if I just had a hit, it would go away. I guess I was reminded why what I do—what _we_ do—is so important. When a person needs a dangerous drug just to feel better, something is very, very wrong."

They passed a young mother walking with a small boy and a corgi puppy and Dean smiled. "But, it got a little better each day. I still feel really tired, but the flu symptoms are gone, thank God. I wish I could have had visitors. But at the same time, I wouldn't have wanted anyone to see me like that. It was horrible," he concluded.

Their surroundings were beginning to shape into an urban environment. Aidan was forced to look at the road more often now, though he kept glancing at Dean next to him. "I hate what he did to you. Heroin...It's one of the worst drugs out there. One of Lando's friends got hooked on it, thinking it was Ketamine. That's what they said it was. You can't tell the difference, you know; it all looks exactly the same. Instantly hooked. It took him years to get off it, and it was still hard for him, the last time I saw him. You were lucky to have had this facility. But that's most likely the last thing you want to hear from me right now. And I mean, there's no comparison. It's always bad." He smiled. "I'm proud of how well you're recovering. You look good. But why isn't Adam your handler anymore, you think?"

Aidan kept his eyes on the road now, not because of the traffic but because of the next words coming quietly out if his mouth. "I wouldn't like being your handler very much."

"I was lucky," Dean said. "The government paid for my stay and my care. Most addicts...they don't have those kind not resources. At least, not here in the states. It's a shame."

Dean was quiet for a minute as they stopped at a traffic light. Then he said, "I asked Lee if I could get a new handler. I like Adam. Love him even. But, he had no right making calls like that. Decisions that did more than just 'keep me safe.' His words," Dean frowned. "He purposely kept me from you. When I think about the fact that I could have maintained contact with you, all those years. When I think about what we lost...and if it weren't for Lee hiring you, I still wouldn't be seeing you. I feel used and tricked. I don't think I could trust him again."

A copse of gaily colored autumn trees caught his eye and he latched onto it. "You wouldn't want to be my handler?"

"Ah, that's why," Aidan spoke sadly. He should have known. He glanced once at Dean, but Dean wasn't paying attention. "I wouldn't," he said. "I'd be forced to be supportive while your mission was to get close to someone else. It wouldn't make me very happy."

Dean let this information sink in, but didn't meet Aidan's eyes when he said, "Aidan, if I were lucky enough to have you, I'd never do that again. Go into the field and do that sort of work, I mean. I had a lot of time to think while I was laid up. I think I might want to make a career change."

Admitting those secret thoughts out loud made it seem all too real. Dean's hands started to sweat. "I think, instead of dealing with criminals and putting away drug dealers and manufacturers, I'd rather be helping the people those drugs affect."

"...But then you wouldn't be CIA."

"It's true," Dean told him. "I wouldn't. Would that be the end of the world?"

"Not if you'd stay in the area, I guess." Aidan chanced another look at Dean.

"I won't leave you again, Aidan," Dean replied. "Ever. We can park in the lot up ahead on the right," he pointed. "I hope you enjoy this as much as I do."

The gentlest smile graced Aidan's lips as he parked, stopped the car and stayed sitting in the seat while he was supposed to get up and get out. With that same smile, he locked the car on all sides. He wasn't ready to end this conversation yet.

"I'll enjoy it," he said. "But give me time to enjoy just being around you a little more. He looked up and closed his eyes, looking like a man fully at ease—and yet not. "If you think you could handle it, you should do it. It's not easy, working with addicts, but it's rewarding." A comfortable silence followed. "I forgave Adam for what he did. I think I understand now."

"I understand it too," Dean frowned. "Doesn't mean I have to like it. And I'm not quite at the forgiving point yet. He and I have been close for too long. I'm just...not ready to deal with him right now," Dean explained. 

"At Sagebrush I got to be friends with one of the group counselors. I asked her about the requirements. I already have a degree and plenty of experience working with people who are dependent on drugs. I'd just need a bit of training and I could be up and running in no time. I'd be helping people, and not be worried about getting killed every day I go to work. It's time for me to make a change, Aidan. I'm not the same person I used to be. Not completely, anyway."

"I'm glad for that." Aidan sighed. Dean was missing his point. "It would be good work for you. Rather not at Sagebrush because of your memories there. What I meant to say wasn't—" he forced it out, "—I meant to say, I'm ready." Aidan looked at Dean and then at his hands as if the words would appear there magically. "If you're still enough of the same person." Because that sentence had really been badly timed.

"When I said that," Dean clarified, "I meant, I'm tired of lying. I'm tired of a job where I have to form false relationships and pretend to be someone else. I want to be _me_ ," he stressed. "Dean who likes to make chicken pot pie and take long showers, and geeks out at museums and really still quite hasn't figured out how to dress himself. _That_ guy," he smiled. "Is that the guy you're ready for?"

"The dressing really wasn't pretend?" Aidan raised a brow. He fully expected Dean to respond to it, because his serious look burst into a brilliantly mischievous grin. "I like the Dean I got to know. So you work undercover and you carry a gun wherever you go, even in the office—which is still a little creepy, if you ask me—as long as the foundations are the same...yes. That's the guy I'm ready for. God, how many times are you going to make me say it before I die of nervousness?"

"I," Dean paused, considering, "I guess until I really believe that you mean it. It's something I've wanted for so long, but I'd given up hope. I keep waiting to wake up and the past month or so would have been a dream. _This_ ," he gestured between them, "would just be a happy dream I'm having."

"It had better not, Dean." Aidan didn't have to keep the door locked, he thought, but it couldn't hurt. "To you it might have seemed like a dream, but it's been terrible for me. There's only so many reasons you can come up with for yourself to take it slow when the one you want could have died out there. Suddenly none of that matters. And then you're not allowed to talk to him for three whole weeks after."

Dean reached for his hand. "It's not a dream; of course it's not. But, having you here—even though I don't deserve you—it's a dream come true for me. I'm sorry you couldn't come to rehab, Aidan. I really wanted you there."

Despite his better judgment, Aidan flushed at the imagery that filled his thoughts. He willed them into submission and coughed. Leaning in, he stole a kiss from Dean once, short and chastely, but from his lips. "Let's go visit a museum and take it from here."

"Wait," Dean felt a warmth spread through him as the cold facade he'd been forced to put up for so many years began to crumble. "Wait, please," he begged, cupping Aidan's face with one hand and drinking him in. "I love you, Aidan," he told him. "Y-you don't have to say it back. I just want to make sure you know how I feel. How I've felt for a long, long time."

This time, Aidan did kiss him fully and thoroughly, his seat belt the only thing keeping him from shoving Dean up against the door on his side of the car, like his body on a fix after years of waiting and wanting. When he pulled back, his chest was heaving and a victorious smile lay on his lips. "Are you kidding me? Would I be going through all this trouble if I didn't love you? I do. I love you. If you ever get away from me like that again, I will chase you to the end of the world, Dean. That's a promise."

\- - - - -

They walked through the parking lot and into the cavernous museum conspiratorially close, looking for all the world like they were in love. Dean, who knew the museum like one born there, led Aidan leisurely through exhibit after exhibit of dinosaur bones, stuffed and posed animals of all types and a very relaxing room of sea life enhanced with wavering azure lighting.

"This is my favorite room," Dean confided, stopping in front of a banner that read _Geology, Gems & Minerals_. He waved to a white-haired guard outside the door. "Hello, John. This is my friend, Aidan. He's never seen the Hope Diamond before."

"Ah, kid," the older man winked, "you're in for a treat. Seems Dean has a penchant for pretty things."

Dean chuckled. "That I do." He took Aidan's arm and guided him through a room filled with beautiful gems and crystals. "John Callen has been working here all of his adult life. He can tell you some amazing stories about the Smithsonian from way back."

Dean turned to Aidan. "I come here a lot. It's one of the first places I discovered when I came to the city. It's free, and it's so cool. But this particular exhibit...I don't know...I just look at all these pretty rocks, and I guess it helps ground me. They're just so beautiful, and it reminds me that even if really awful things are going on in the world, that the world can still produce beautiful things. I guess that sounds stupid," he sniffed, squeezing Aidan's hand as they gazed at a giant purple quartz that glittered under the recessed lighting. 

"But this isn't our world," Aidan gazed up at the stone. It wasn't just the stone that settled something in him. For all the museums he'd been forced to see as a kid, this was the first one he actually liked. Modern art just wasn't his thing. And it was peaceful, like you were treading in a very precious piece of the world. "This is Mother Nature. No human made this. It's all chemistry." He looked at Dean with a twinkle in his eyes. "Remember when I told you about my first bomb? I mean, that was very destructive, I admit, but nature itself is incredibly interesting. Did you know that most of these stones would have been different if they had been exposed to more or less pressure? Straight down to their molecular structures."

Aidan could talk aplenty, but he'd never seen specimens this big, so for all his garnered knowledge, he also stood there in awe. "So what's the story behind this? It's an amethyst, isn't it?"

Dean leaned over to read from the small plaque below the lovely crystal.

 _"Amethyst is a very special quartz. Although it occurs in many different rocks in many different forms, most amethysts share certain basic properties, not just the color,"_ he read. _"The color can vary from a pale pinkish violet to a dark blue-violet, with shades of red, and sometimes gray._

_"The name refers to its alleged ability to protect its owner from the negative effects of alcohol consumption, namely 'methy,' the Greek expression for being drunk, and 'a-methy-stos' would translate to 'one that does not get drunk.' This association probably came up because of the color of red wine is sometimes similar to that of amethyst."_

He smiled sadly. "In all the time I've come here, I've never read that. Imagine that; a stone that protects you from the symptoms of bad substances."

Aidan could see the wheels turning in Dean's head. 

Nobody was in the room with them; a quick look around ensured him of that. Before Dean knew it, Aidan had drawn behind him and pulled him against himself. He closed his eyes and breathed in his scent. "Wouldn't that be something?" He swayed gently, his ears pointed at any disturbances. He wasn't ready to test their closeness in front of others yet—not that he feared his own response, but he had a lot more experience with social acceptance than Dean. "Hmm, have they got a shop here? I don't think I've given you a present before."

Dean allowed himself to melt back into the protective circle of Aidan's arms and savor his warmth and closeness. "Ground floor," he murmured. "But you don't need to do anything special for me. You being here is all the present I need, Aid."

"I'd like to give you something though." Aidan kissed him lightly on his ear out of affection rather than teasing. He kept it there, because they were still in a museum and he respected the hallowed silence. "It would be a good present. Keeps you grounded too, and I hope you'll think of me once in a while when you do. Come on, I think I'd like to see that diamond you've been talking about now."

"Yes," Dean reluctantly pulled away. "The Hope Diamond. It's in the next room."

They entered a small circular room. In the center was a thick square glass pedestal. Inside was a large diamond of a deep, rich steel blue. Dean seemed entranced, gazing down at the impossibly beautiful thing. The blue of the diamond reflected in his eyes.

"Diamonds are one of the hardest, most resilient materials on earth," he said quietly, "and yet, they can be so lovely."

Instead of staying at a respectable distance like he should, Aidan dragged Dean closer and peered at it with his nose nearly pressed against the glass. The faceted light reflected in his dark eyes. "It's beautiful," he whispered. He could see how it calmed Dean down. Despite his own attention span reaching only so far, with the blond being a fair distraction, he did his best to focus on the gems. This was Dean's day, and it visibly settled him. "You sound like the kind of person who collected stones as a kid. Did you?"

"I did," Dean admitted. "When I was about six, I was digging in my backyard in Auckland. I found gold. At least, I thought it was gold," he chuckled at the memory. "I found nine or ten little nuggets. I was digging like mad, thinking about buying things for my mum and dad. A bigger house, a boat—since we lived so close to the ocean. I ran inside with my treasure, all excited. Then my dad burst my bubble. He told me it was pyrite. Fool's gold. But I still remember how good it felt when I thought it was treasure. That pyrite was the beginning of my rock collection."

"And how big did the rock collection get?" Aidan looked at how the diamond's refracted light shattered on Dean's face. "I only remember the chemical things, like how to check for hardness and the color of the flame when burning it pulverized." He chuckled. "I had a penchant for destroying things as a kid."

"It took up a whole drawer in my dresser," Dean confided. "I slowed down a bit over the years. The last time I actually purchased a stone for it was back in college when I went to a gemology festival. I guess coming here took the place of that. My collection's back home with my mother. I wish I had it here. I'd like to show it to you."

Aidan smiled. "How about, when the time is right, you'll take me there instead?" He'd never been in that part of the world. It seemed like natural thing, now. He pulled Dean along to the next collection with two hands. "Show me which ones you had."

The two spent the next half hour pouring over rocks, gems and minerals. As they did so, Dean became visibly more relaxed. They came to a dim room with a small display behind glass. Dean pushed a button on the wall and the room grew darker still. Then, the rocks behind the glass began to glow. 

"Phosphorescence," Dean smiled softly, slipping his hand into Aidan's. "Thank you for bringing me here, Aidan."

Aidan looked all around him in awe. In the dark, only his silhouette moved, showing none of the wonder that was on his face. Likewise Aidan couldn't see what was on Dean's mind. He squeezed his hand affectionately. "Any time," he whispered with the silence of the room wrapped around them. Aidan wanted to kiss him. He also didn't want to push him. "Take me here again. I like your world." It was quite magical. "If there's something of my world you'd like to see..."

"Everything," Dean whispered. "I want to see everything."

Dean lay his head on Aidan's shoulder, reaching forward with his free hand to push the button again.

"I haven't got much to show you yet," whispered Aidan as he leaned into the touch. "You could help me build it here. I finally unpacked." He said it like he was proud of that. Well. It wasn't a bad timing to let Dean know what he was getting into; Aidan was lazy as hell. "I still didn't get internet though. The silence is wonderful." He sighed out. "Let's get out of here, Dean."

"Sounds great," Dean confirmed. "Where to?"

"Home?" Either Dean's or his was fine, Aidan thought, as the light came back on. "With pizza. And no curfew. Did you have curfew?"

Dean chuckled. "Nope, I'm free and clear, mate." He squeezed Aidan's hand once and let it go before a pair of young women entered the room they were standing in. "Your place is closer. I mean, if you want me to see it."

"It's still not clean," Aidan threw in his disclaimer just to be safe. "It's a rental, so I didn't do much repairs yet. But sure." He dragged Dean along to the next hall, and then the next, and then outside.

Thirty minutes later, Aidan gingerly opened the door to the apartment and looked around. He ushered Dean inside quickly and closed the door, breathing out with a sigh. It was all a little too secretive but, pressing his fingers to his lips, Aidan gestured for Dean to follow and led him to the living room. He pointed to a small black ball of fur on the far end of the couch.

"My newest roommate," he explained warmly. "She tends to sneak out if she can."

Dean gazed down fondly at the small black kitten. "She's so little," he marveled. "What do you call her?"

"Nox." As Aidan said it, she stretched and yawned wide, earning her a scratch behind the ears and Aidan a contented purr. "It got lonely," he admitted. "She's done a marvelous job at keeping my mind occupied." He slipped out of his shoes and sat down on the couch with a sigh, before blinking up. "You want something to drink? Or a tour of the house? Or some pizza?"

"She's adorable," Dean proclaimed, scooping up the kitten and burying his nose in its fur. Nox took a sniff of Dean's hair and immediately sneezed demurely. Seconds later, as he held the kitten at arm's length, Dean sneezed back, slightly less demurely. "Heh, well, clearly we need to get used to each other," he said apologetically, putting Nox down on her perch.

Dean sat down next to Aidan. "Pizza would work, but...whenever," he snuggled closer. "Right now I just want to be with you."

The kitten pointlessly tried several times to regain Aidan's attention from then on; she was temporarily forgotten in favor of Dean. Aidan did his best to convey what he wanted, but with Dean just out of the facility, he thought he could wait a little longer if necessary. "Being with you," he nodded with that hopeful yet tentative look in his eyes, "I can do that." He nudged Dean's leg with his shoeless foot.

Dean was willing to accept the idea that Aidan had forgiven him. Aidan was a sweet guy—maybe too sweet. But he wasn't sure just how much Aidan would be willing to do, physically, so soon. To be honest, Dean wasn't sure either.

Although he only had a patchwork memory of his time in the clutches of Graham McTavish, he hadn't forgotten that he'd come dangerously close to being raped. If it hadn't been for Richard—

He shivered involuntarily and reached for Aidan's hand. "I'm glad I don't have to be alone, my first night out. I'm glad it's you I'm with, Aid," he admitted. "I am the luckiest man in the world."

The shiver didn't go unnoticed. A shadow of worry crept back over Aidan's heart. "I'll be here," he said. "Turn around, lean against me." He wrapped his arms lightly over Dean's shoulders and leaned his chin on his head. Pulling up his legs up on both sides, Aidan closed his eyes. "I don't know what happened to you. They never told me. But I've never seen you like this." He paused. "Don't worry, I don't mind. It's just a little scary. Ever since I got to know you, you've been trying to persuade me to do things. I just don't know what to do. There's tons of things to do. But I don't know—I don't know how to handle this very well."

Dean was so grateful for the warmth and the comfort that he felt he could cry. He'd done his fair share of crying in rehab. It came to him far too readily now. But these weren't tears of regret, or fear or pain—they were tears of happiness.

"I haven't been with anyone since you," he told Aidan. "No one compared." And that was all the explanation he wanted to offer. "There is nothing you could do that would disappoint me, Aidan. Nothing. I just want you."

"I'm sure there is." Aidan sounded sad. "When you left me, back in Dublin, they got me a new job across the world. I was so angry with you, and I didn't know anyone in the city I lived in...I lost myself in going out. Four times a week at least, and the times I was at home, I wanted out. It's not something I'm proud of."

"We all cope in different ways," Dean brushed Aidan's behavior away like crumbs from his lap. "For me, it was easier to pretend you'd died. I was, literally, in mourning for you for almost two years. After that, I just didn't try to find anyone. I worked... a lot," he shrugged. 

"But I always dreamed—even though it was irrational—that I'd somehow get to see you again, and try to make everything up to you. I want to do that, Aidan. Give you happiness."

Aidan opened his eyes. "You pretended I _died_?" He didn't know what to say. On his left, Nox tried to grab his attention by nudging her nose against his side. He smiled at the gesture, despite knowing it wasn't meant as affectionately as it appeared. The smile soon fell. "You didn't envision it, did you? Me dying?" He didn't like that thought one bit. "Let's talk about something else, okay?"

"Oh, Aid," Dean quickly rushed to assure him, "it was nothing like that. I'm more than a little embarrassed to admit that I lost my shit when I came home from Dublin. I started seeing a therapist because I really wasn't coping well with what had happened...what I did to you and how much I really missed you. I thought I would really never have a chance to see you again. My therapist suggested that the best way to cope would be to deal with it the way I would deal with someone who had died. Try to focus on happy things and do what I could to honor you and what we’d had.”

"I never envisioned you dying, of course. Her advice really helped, that is until you came back from the grave.

"I think my heart nearly stopped when you walked into that conference room." Dean turned his head to the right and nudged Aidan's jaw line with his nose and lips.

Aidan pulled him closer against him. "I wanted to turn right around when I saw you." Which was the truth. "Give up this chance for the peace of my last job. It was a nice job, you know. But this one finally allowed me the use of my own name again, and I thought, there's no way you were getting the honor of keeping me from my own name, from being able to contact my family properly again. All this while, I just told them I was working on something secret and hardly ever contacted them. They were so happy when I could finally talk to them again. I didn't realize..." 

Aidan breathed out. "I hate how so much has come between us. Can't we pretend it never happened and take it from there? I really don't want to keep thinking about how to scale a wall when I'd rather there wasn't one. I could take you out for food, or you could make me another calorie bomb dish that I'd probably love and eat far too much of. I still promised to show you to mum and dad, and they would love you."

"If you feel that you can do that, then yes. I would love to start over...as long as it doesn't mean forgetting about the time we've already spent together. It's been too wonderful to forget." Dean wrapped his arms around Aidan's waist.

Aidan adamantly shook his head. "No forgetting of anything up until they took you away. Just two people who haven't seen each other in a long time." There was a look of mischief on his face, as if he was thinking of something that promised no good, until he veered up alertly. "Your luggage is still in the car..."

"Is there something in my suitcase that you need?" Dean asked him. "I suppose we could go get my bag if you want to."

Aidan made to get up. "You don't need it?" he asked. "What if someone sees it? I mean, have you seen the parking lot?"

"It's in the trunk right? We can go get it if you like, but there's really nothing in it except a couple changes of clothing and a book. Everything I need is right here," he said, snuggling closer to Aidan.

It took looking at Dean for a while for Aidan to figure he was right. The urgency left him soon after; it was gone by the time he lay back down on the couch, his eyes following Dean to see what he would do. "You said you were a writer," he mused as he kept his eyes on him, "But you're an agent. Do you still want to write that novel?"

"Now more than ever," Dean told him. "Maybe I could write a new James Bond novel. How is this for a title... The Spy Who Drugged Me?"

He chuckled at his own cleverness, then leaned up and claimed Aidan's lips, very gently at first, then more urgently.

Aidan had raised a lazy brow in response to the quip when lips touched his own. He at once lost the expression, his eyes fluttering shut and his arms coming up to brush Dean's face.

It felt like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Geology, Gems & Minerals exhibit and the Hope Diamond are on display at the Smithsonian's Museum of Natural History.* If you'd like to take a virtual tour and see what Aidan and Dean saw during their visit, go here: 
> 
> http://www.mnh.si.edu/vtp/1-desktop/
> 
> Click on "second floor" in the upper right hand corner, and enjoy. 
> 
> *John Callen not included*


	14. Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunited... and it feels so good.

Five years, and yet it felt like they started this only yesterday. 

With that thought also came the recollection of all the other things Aidan and Dean had done. Aidan involuntarily whimpered. If things didn't take an unexpected turn, he knew what was in there for them in the near future. And as much as Aidan wanted to be careful, this time around, there was no denying that the thought was deemed pleasant enough by parts of himself he had little control over.

The kiss soon left him thirsty for more. With a small sound and a flurry of movement, he switched their positions on the couch, paused to be quieted by the view, whispered, "God, yes," and kissed Dean hard.

Dean's body responded far too eagerly to Aidan's presence. The warmth and the smell of him was as comforting as it was titillating.

"God," he breathed when Aidan pulled away, "I am desperate for you."

"I thought you'd never ask," grinned the other. Not that Dean got him wrong—Aidan had loved spending time with him. But, in the faint glow of the twilight outside and lights flickering on in the city, there was nothing that better told him they would be alright than Dean's declaration. Gone were the worries that he was setting himself up for potential disaster. Gone were the many arguments he'd used on himself that going slow was the way to do this. This, this was what they needed; to stop thinking and just act. "You okay with the couch?" He smiled suggestively. "It's a company couch."

Dean snorted out and laughed at Aidan's suggestion. 

"Well," he chuckled, "I am company." He reached up with one hand and begin unbuttoning Aidan's oxford shirt.

Stretching his arms easily to help him, Aidan kissed him again as soon as the shirt came off. "Just checking. But good. So am I." He sat up again in thought, pecked Dean once more on the lips, and got up from the couch. "Be right back, okay?" And he snatched the small kitten that had somehow managed to get her way up on the back of the couch—looking at their backs with curious eyes—up in his hands and walked away with her.

Dean heard the sound of a door opening and closing, and saw Aidan entering the living room without the cat. He eyed Dean over. "Shirt off," he said.

"You realize," Dean smiled, "that it's only a matter of minutes before she starts crying to be let back in here?" He eyed Aidan's crotch hungrily. "We'd better hurry."

"Probably. But now that you're here, she's gonna have to learn." Years of speaking with a generalized American accent wore off at that moment and the Irish lilt returned to his speech as though it had never left. Aidan knew what Dean was looking at; he looked at it with an unspoken question himself. When he looked back up, his eyes were dark. "Shirt off, and these go off."

Dean immediately started to wriggle out of his sweatshirt. he tossed the grey item off to the side. Right away both of his hands gravitated to Aidan's waistband.

He had a very clear memory of exactly how Aidan smelled...his favorite cologne complimented by Aidan's natural musk. He licked his lips in anticipation.

But Aidan swatted his hands away and moved out of reach. He reached for the buckle of his belt himself, taking his sweet time undoing that. Sliding the belt through the loop was an episode by itself—and then Aidan decided that he liked the look on Dean's face enough to remove the belt from his jeans entirely, if only to buy himself more time with that look. "I'm just going to call it," he said. "From the moment these pants come off, you're mine." There was a bit of worry that shone through in his expression then, because for all his shown confidence, Aidan feared a rejection still. "Continue?"

"Aid," Dean's eyes shone with a reverence akin to worship, "I was yours since he moment I laid eyes on you—in that lab coat, back in Dublin. You took my breath away then and I still haven't quite caught it." His forehead wrinkled a bit as a look of concern crossed Aidan's face. "I want this, Aidan. Want _you,_ so much."

Aidan looked at him with surprise. "You like lab coats? I have to remember that." Without further questions he rose to his knees and pushed the jeans down until they constricted his movement at the knee, whereupon he leaned forward over Dean. "A hand," he whispered—and proceeded to make that hand very difficult, as he latched his mouth onto patches of skin on Dean's chest. He didn't show it, but relief was washing over him; relief and a newfound shaky nervousness.

Dean chuckled and encouraged Aidan to lie on top of him. He used his own stockinged feet to push Aidan's jeans and underwear the rest of the way down, hands exploring all the while. Aidan's arousal was evident against his thighs and he was eager get his hands and mouth on it. 

"Maybe," he breathed in Aidan's ear, "the bed would work better after all?"

Stopping his movement, Aidan watched him, his lips parted in thought. "…Yeah, maybe." On the realization, he pushed himself up, ignoring the puddle of jeans and underwear on the couch, and the fact that he was very much naked. He'd almost forgotten that if his assumptions were right, Dean had never taken this all the way before. He didn't want that first time to be a clumsy fumble on the couch. "Next time though," he promised. 

As soon as Dean was up off the couch, Aidan pressed himself flush against him, kissing him like his life depended on it. His feet dragged them backward to the first patch of wall, which Aidan pushed him up against at once. "This is mad," he grinned.

"This is...amazing," Dean gasped, when allowed to come up for air. "God, you look good naked." He ran his right hand down Aidan's warm flank, nibbling on the underside of Aidan's jaw. He pulled Aidan's hips closer to his own, seeking friction.

"Why are you still dressed?" Aidan gasped. He fell to his knees shamelessly, his hands starting with Dean's slacks. They weren't much of a challenge. Within a few impatient tugs, Aidan found himself face to face with Dean's naked arousal. He looked up, caught the other's eye, and leaned forward.

"I just didn't get around to ....oh, _god_ ," Dean groaned, head thudding softly against the wall as Aidan engulfed him in the scorching heat of his mouth. He felt the urge to laugh, to cry, to dance around the room and celebrate his incredible luck. But he was held fast by Aidan's hands on his hips...and he didn't want to escape this particular prison.

With skill and fully surrendering to it, Aidan held him in place with his hands on his ass while he took Dean as deep as he could take him, further backing him up against the wall. This was really happening, then. No more fear. For minutes, Aidan worked him with all he had. When he finally pulled away, it was only because he wanted more than this, and his mouth looked thoroughly debauched.

"Bedroom, love," he whispered. "With me." Aidan's skin was taut, his arousal plain and painful, as he stretched to his full height in front of Dean and then started stepping back.

Consciously or unconsciously, Dean had no choice but to follow behind after Aidan's impassioned plea. Aidan's bedroom reflected his personality, and was far from tidy, but Dean hardly noticed. He only had eyes for the man himself.

Aidan crawled across his bed and lay on his back, extending a hand to the blond. A lazy grin spread across Dean's face and he slid in next to him. Against white sheets, Aidan looked dark and somewhat dangerous. Dean found he liked the uncertainty, and began nibbling on Aidan's stomach.

As easy as if it had been only yesterday, Aidan closed his eyes and gave in. He let out a small sigh. To think that once, this man had gone only for women not so long ago. What a waste that would have been, had he kept it up. To this day Aidan still didn't know what made him so special for Dean to want him—the first man in his life, the game changer. As far as he was concerned, he hadn't done anything out of the ordinary. It didn't matter. What mattered was that it had happened. "I'm yours too," he said hoarsely. "Do with me what you like."

True to his word—and much to his own personal shame—Dean really hadn't been with anyone physically since he'd left Dublin. He discovered, however, that he had a "type," and that type looked like Aidan. Deep brown eyes, curly dark hair. Those were the initial pre-requisites. A nearly discernible Irish accent certainly helped.

He'd found himself occasionally downloading porn—and it really didn't matter to him if it was gay or straight porn—as long as one of the men looked somewhat like Aidan. He'd gotten quite an eye opening education that way.

His hand eagerly migrated to Aidan's balls and felt their comforting heft and softness as they drew up tightly to his body. The smell of Aidan was intoxicating, especially here. He was beginning to think that he was chemically attracted, at a very basic level foremost, to Aidan. It could be the only possible explanation for his irrational ardor.

Aidan sucked in a breath. What he was expecting was someone who might have had his share of women, but was fairly new around a male body not his own. Dean however seemed to know what he was doing. "There's...things in the drawer," he whispered, intending to find out. "Lube, condoms, you know." Aidan didn't keep anything embarrassing in that drawer, so he was sure he didn't unintentionally scare Dean off. "But don't stop."

"Do you want me to use a condom?" Dean asked him, suddenly aware that Aidan might not have bought his story about leading a life of celibacy.

Aidan was adamant however. "It's easier that way, and I haven't..." He quieted. Aidan hadn't been so picky about his partners for a long while. He never thought he'd come to regret it, but he regretted it now.

Dean nodded, "Okay," and didn't question him further. He leaned over and slid open the drawer, pulling out a box of condoms—not opened, he was happy to note—and a tube of AstroGlide. Suddenly, his hands started to shake as his nerves kicked in.

He took a couple deep breaths. _He wanted this._ God, he wanted this more than he'd ever wanted anything, ever. And yet he was terrified. He'd hoped Aidan might make good on his "after that, you're mine" promise and take him in hand, fucking him, if that was what he wanted.

But it was abundantly clear that Aidan wanted to be on the receiving end. 

He could do this. 

The bottle advertised that the lube was warming. He hoped so, as his hands were freezing. 

"I'm nervous," he admitted, finally, as he lay down next to Aidan's hips, squirting a bit of lube onto his right hand. "Don't want to hurt you."

Aidan's eyes fluttered open. They looked at him with something like sadness—though not quite that. Care, love and kindheartedness intermingled in the look. "You don't have to be nervous for anything." He leaned in to kiss Dean slow enough that when he pulled apart, their lips still stuck together a moment. "Follow your heart. If this isn't what you're ready for yet, then it's not. Whatever you do, I'll be with you. You'll only hurt me if you force yourself. And if you want me to do something, just tell me."

"I want you, Aid, I do," Dean assured him. "I just...I have literally never done this before. I don't want to let you down, is all," he tried to explain, nuzzling Aidan's inner thigh with his lips. "Forget I said anything, please?" he closed his left hand around Aidan's shaft, edging in closer and following that hand closely with his mouth. 

The taste of salty pre-cum exploded on his tongue, spurring him on. He licked and caressed for a moment or two, then slowly ran his lubed fingers down along Aidan's cleft towards the dusky opening he both feared and coveted.

Dean's insecurity was sweet, but aside from how it made his partner feel, Aidan didn't care about the skill. _You would never let me down._ They had time, this time around. What Dean didn't know, he would learn. With a swallow, Aidan closed his eyes. "Start with one," he suggested. "Two is too much." Dean really had no idea how his body yearned for the touch.

Dean circled the tight circle of muscle with his middle finger, begging entrance, as his tongue delved into the slit of Aidan's cock. Aidan let out a gasp and the muscle relaxed, allowing Dean to slip the tip of the digit inside. The tight heat surprised him. He knew it would be tight, but he hadn't realized _how_ tight. 

Tentatively, he wriggled the finger, allowing it to slip further and further inside of his partner as he relaxed his throat to allow Aidan's length inside. Breathing deeply through his nose, he swiveled his wrist until he found it...the bump he was looking for, deep inside Aidan. It was much smaller than he'd expected, but the reaction when he rubbed it was far from small, and he grinned around Aidan's cock.

_Finally,_ he thought to himself. _I'm doing something right._

Feet dug into the mattress, as if Aidan was trying to push himself further up. His back stretched and his breathing came in short breaths. "That's the one," he nodded, licking his curved lips. Aidan didn't need to say much. His body begged loud and clear for more in the way that his fingers grasped for Dean's shoulders. Suddenly his eyes flared wide open, and he leaned up. True enough, Nox sat gazing at them with her innocently curious eyes. Aidan fell back with a groan. "Fucking curious little bugger." He looked up pleadingly at Dean. The hallway. And close the door.

"Silly cat," Dean chuckled at Nox, slipping his finger discretely out of Aidan and getting to his feet. He scooped the dark fur ball up with his clean hand and held her up before his face. 

"He's mine," he said, "at least for the next half hour or so."

Nox leaned forward and licked his nose. 

"Sorry to do this, kitty, but it's Hallsville for you," he placed her gently outside the door, shutting it carefully as she tried to wriggle back inside.

"I'd want to watch too," Dean admitted, pushing Aidan's legs apart with his shoulders and taking his dick back into his mouth. It wasn't long before a second and third finger joined the first.

"I'll let you watch some time," Aidan promised—when he'd touch himself. Soon. The third finger was too much for him at first, and he shook his head. "Hold it." Willing himself to relax wasn't as easy as it should be, and for a minute Aidan breathed in and out, focusing only on the divine feeling of the suction around his cock. When he felt like he couldn't take any more or he'd go too far, he nodded. The finger pushed forward with small resistance, resistance that ebbed away soon in favor of pleasure.

Aidan gently nudged Dean's hand out. He looked up at him full of love and lust. "Ready?"

"Yeah," Dean's voice was hoarse and low. "You bet I'm ready." He was so eager he was afraid he might come too quickly. And that would definitely not do at all.

He reached for the condom he'd pulled from the pack, expertly ripped it open with his teeth and rolled it onto his painfully hard cock. "There's so much I want to say to you, Aidan," Dean told him as he put a hand under each of Aidan's hips and pulled him towards him with a strength belaying his stature. "But it's all rubbish compared to what I want to do." 

He slipped one of Aidan's knees over his shoulder and lined up with the glistening entrance, ever so carefully easing inside. 

Aidan felt his insides knot and unfurl in the most blissful way. He recognized the jitters and embraced them for what they were, draping an arm limply over Dean's shoulder as soon as he came within reach, pulling their lips together. The angle might be a bit much that way, but he needed that kiss. In the corners of his eyes twinkled small droplets, both from the strain on his body as the beauty of it; droplets blinked away before they could spill, and hidden from Dean by closing his lips around an earlobe. 

"How is it?" he whispered. "Let me get used to you. You feel so, so good."

Dean felt the shift in Aidan as he gave himself over. It was a little scary, being so trusted. Dean wasn't used to it. He'd never been worthy of it. 

But Aidan had forgiven him. He wanted him, and finally, _finally_ he was here in his arms. 

"It's so much better than I ever thought it would be," Dean told him. "Lay back. Let me take care of you. Or die trying."

Aidan nodded. Perspiration coated his skin, strands of dark curls sticking to his cheeks and matting to his forehead. He longed to take over, roll them around and take what he needed himself. To kiss Dean until the frenzy left his body. To show him how beautiful this was. But that wasn't what this was about. With reluctance, he lay himself back on the bed—finding himself glad when he did. The unexpected movement drew a whimper from him. And then there was the look on Dean's face, determined and yet falling apart. He was so beautiful.

Aidan knew it was a little unsettling. He didn't mean to, he just couldn't keep his eyes off him. It was with effort that he let his head tip back and his eyes settle behind their lids.

"Go on."

Dean could see in Aidan's face that he was fighting some sort of small, internal battle, but when he finally lay back, Dean set out to pleasure him. It only took a few thrusts until he found that spot inside his lover again that made his features contort in pleasure. 

"Mmm, Aidan...lover," he crooned, sinuously grinding his hips to his that spot again and again. "Love you. Love you so much."

After several strikes, Aidan gasped and his body started shaking. His eyes cracked open before turning on Dean with something like a hot and only half pleading look. His hands rested above his head, making him look utterly unguarded. And he was. "Have mercy," he chuckled hoarsely. The intensity of the onslaught was killing him. Aidan wanted this to last, not to be over in a couple of thrusts. "Go slow," he begged. "Touch me."

Dean complied, keeping a steadying hand on Aidan's hip while his right hand began to stroke Aidan's turgid cock. He bit at his lip at the sight of all the pre-cum that had accumulated from his ministrations. Still, he continued to sinuously circle his hips, brushing over Aidan's pleasure center every few swipes. 

It felt so oddly disconcerting and wonderful to have such an untamed, headstrong man literally laid out for him. Aidan looked so debauched, so _turned on._ Dean wasn't sure how much longer he'd last if he kept having to look at that wrecked face.

Aidan however, lost to his throes, continued to fall further apart. Whenever his lips weren't parted, they were smiling blissfully. His legs pulled further up and wrapped around Dean's back, pulling him closer every time he thrust in. Then, his eyes opened and he looked up at the other man. There were a number of sentences written in that look alone. Aidan did his best to encourage Dean to take it further, and further. And kiss him.

"I love you," he whispered.

Aidan's declaration made Dean's heart soar. And god, he loved Aidan with a love so deep and intense it frightened him. 

The brunet's eyes were dark, liquid, consumed by his lust-blown pupils and Dean was compelled to lean down and kiss Aidan's eyelids, his nose, and finally his lips, swallowing his cries of passion. Every muscle in his body was focused on Aidan's pleasure. 

Aidan's insides were coiling. He felt his throat constrict, then the muscles in his hands, and then his stomach. In a wave of forceful ecstasy, he pulled Dean fully flush against him and kissed him hard, leading the dance in every way except for actually claiming it.

Dean had no warning when Aidan clenched around him hard and, writhing, convulsed on the bed, letting out a loud and lust-laden gasp.

The vise-like grip from Aidan's climax gave Dean the final impetus he needed to follow him over that precipice. The fluttering muscles milked his orgasm out of him as he collapsed on top of the brunet, lips mouthing soundlessly on sweaty skin and hands tangling in Aidan's damp curls.

"Oh, _man,_ " Dean groaned weakly. "Jesus."

He felt legs possessively hold him there; it was the only thing Aidan was physically able of right now. He chuckled elated. "We're going to do that again. I mean, not now. God, not now. But as soon as we're good to go again..." Aidan kissed Dean tiredly. "Was is anything like what you expected? Not me," he added, "but it? I didn't go too fast, right? I haven't been able to stop thinking about how it would be since I found out I forgave you, but I'm so sorry if I pushed you or anything."

"It felt incredible," Dean admitted. "You helped me get over being nervous. I have a lot of lost time to make up for," he said apologetically, snuggling down more fully on top of Aidan. "When I think that we could have spent the past five years...doing this..." he kissed Aidan's neck, "I feel as if we were both robbed."

Aidan kissed him again. "Not just this," he shook his head. "We could have done a lot of other things." They could have woken up next to each other for five years. Aidan probably would have moved in after a couple of years, or maybe Dean would have. They could have gone on trips. They could have done so many things. "But it's good, isn't it?" The exhausted grin returned. "Guess what?"

"What, love?" Dean murmured sleepily, a lazy hand splaying out on Aidan's chest as their heartbeats began to slow and sync up.

If Aidan saw the drowsiness, well, he pointedly ignored it. "I can make you dinner. If you're hungry. I mean, I'm famished. Do you want to help me clean up?" Because Aidan loved it when he was given a hand getting clean, though he doubted Dean, it being his first time with a man, was yet aware of the mess he had made.

"If we were at my place, I'd drag you into my shower. Remember the shower in Dublin? I loved it so much, I got one installed in my apartment." He rolled off Aidan and pulled the younger man towards him, running a hand down his back to his ass. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry. Lube," he noted, "that shit's messy."

He pressed a gentle kiss to Aidan's cheek and rose, slipping the condom off his softening dick and knotting it. He looked around until he located what must have been the bathroom and headed in. He quickly located a washcloth, which he ran under warm water, and a towel. Tossing the prophylactic in the trash, he exited, towel slung over his shoulder. 

He wiped down the bottle of lube and placed it back in the drawer next to Aidan's optimistically full box of condoms. He made a note to purchase a box for his apartment.

He held up the washcloth. "Do you want me to—?"

Aidan didn't speak, only nodded. He rolled onto his back again, taking care not to soil the sheets further, although he wondered why. It'd be easier to just throw on some new sheets. As soon as that thought crossed his mind, he latched onto it. If Dean spent the night, at least. It'd be fresh and new; Aidan wanted to get the best second start. Lost in his thoughts and in appreciation of Dean's care, he didn't hear his cat once again tread back in.

"Your place next time, okay?" he asked. "You can make me dinner and seduce me to your bed. And I loved that shower. You still didn't share it with two other people, did you?" If it were up to Aidan, that was never going to happen, either.

"Only you," Dean assured him, gently but firmly cleaning Aidan with the washcloth. "Only _ever_ you." He chuckled at Nox, who’d somehow found her way back to them, as he reached for the towel. "I think you've acquired yourself a cat who's a secret agent in training. She's quite stealthy. She could teach you a thing or two."

"I never wanted to be a secret agent," Aidan said in reply. He bit his lip to stifle a laugh when the towel brushed ticklish skin. "You should see her at night. Practically absorbs light, that one." He was still glad he got her, even if the impulsive purchase had been mainly to hunt away the absence of Dean. His expression soon softened. "I do love you," Aidan spoke quieter now. "I've loved you when I wanted to hate you for a long time. Then I thought I'd moved on. But I haven't. One look at you, and you're all I could ask for. It's no different for me from how it was then."

Dean tossed the towel away, scooped up Nox and climbed back in bed next to Aidan. He lay the cat down on Aidan's stomach, and pulled the blanket up to cover them both to their waists.

"That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," Dean knew he'd cry if he looked Aidan in the eyes, so he concentrated on petting the kitten. "I never want to hurt you again, Aidan."

Aidan rolled his head to the side. He lay there, just watching Dean as he petted the cat. She loved the attention and pulled all of Dean's toward her, which allowed Aidan to really look at him. "Nor I. I was pretty bad to you when I came here. Sorry about that. I wouldn't have been surprised if you'd turned away from me. I'm glad you didn't though." 

They still needed that shower. As they lay there, it was nor the place nor the time.

"Welcome back, Dean."

Dean smiled fondly at the unusual sentiment. 

"You know," he wrapped his arm around Aidan's waist, displacing poor Nox, who gave him a withering look. "For the first time I feel like I've arrived somewhere that I really want to call home."

Aidan kissed him. "If I can trick you into going back to Dublin some day..." But although Dublin still felt like his home, it was no longer his world. "Stay the night. I want to find out if you're still as charming in the morning."

"I think you'll find I'm quite charming," Dean grinned, "as long as you let me get my toothbrush from the car."

"Deal." Aidan kissed him once more and looked at him meaningfully. "I've got the day off tomorrow."

"That makes me very, very happy," Dean pulled the covers up higher, tossing a leg over Aidan's beneath the blanket. "I'm off until...well...maybe forever. I'm still trying to make up my mind about that."

"Nurse Dean," Aidan rolled that over. He wiggled on the bed playfully in anticipation. "Yeah. Much better."

"Me, a nurse?" Dean grimaced. "Oh, hell no. I don't mind cleaning up _your_ bodily fluids...but total strangers? Forget it. But the idea of helping people recover...now that really appeals to me. Of course, I'd make a terrible addiction counselor if I can't get over my strongest addiction..."

Aidan shrugged that off. "I think it just gives you the authority to help others. And you did get over it, didn't you? For the support to keep off it, I'm there." He quite liked lying on the bed, watching Dean fuss about. It made him feel cared for.

Dean's laughter was like the pealing of a bell. "Aidan, you nut. I'm taking about my addiction to _you._ " He leapt on top of Aidan straddling his hips. "You are the most addictive substance on earth."

"Substance?" Now it was Aidan's turn to laugh. "Really. That's good to know. You're addicted to my _substance_." He used the momentum to roll them both around, hovering above him with a crazy infatuated smirk.

"Well, you in general," Dean clarified. "Your smile, your hair, your eyes," his hand lazily slid down Aidan's flank and cupped his ass. "Other things, too."

"I'd really rather you didn't get over that, then." Aidan's eyes twinkled; before Dean knew it, Aidan had swooped down to kiss him again. This time he didn't keep it short. His tongue coaxed entrance and made sure to leave Dean heady once he was done with him.

"I don't plan to," Dean told him softly, caressing his jaw line and wrapping a leg leisurely around the back of one of Aidan's thighs. Already Aidan had him hungry for more.

An absent nod was all he was given, before Aidan trailed his kisses to Dean's neck, his lips occasionally nipping, occasionally sucking at the salty skin. He moved his mouth up to worry the skin just underneath Dean's ear. Eager for a weakness, Aidan proceeded to map the sighs and sounds of this man— _his_ man—for future reference. He wasn't letting go.

They forgot about dinner soon enough.

There was always breakfast.

Dean awoke from a fitful nightmare in the early morning hours. It wasn't unusual, since his abduction, for him to have horrible dreams about what had happened—about what could have happened. Graham was so cruel, so unpredictable. Each morning when he woke up he counted himself lucky that Richard had been there to keep him safe.

Eventually, he was going to have to confront the man and thank him for risking his cover so bravely. It was possible he owed Richard his life.

Next to him, Aidan still slept soundly. Dean watched the slow, comforting rise and fall of his chest in the swath of moonlight that fell across the bed. He wrapped his arm around Aidan's waist and lay his head on his shoulder, matching Aidan's breathing pattern with his own. 

_I never have to wake up alone again,_ was his his last thought before sleep again claimed him.


	15. God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan and Dean have a Christmas party at their house.

_**FIFTEEN MONTHS LATER** _

Aidan looked over the place once again. You'd think that, knowing how to dress and decorate things, he'd have no trouble keeping their house tidy. The opposite was unfortunately true; after three hours of extensive cleaning and relocating junk, the place was supposed to be neat. He looked, stressed, at the clock. Half an hour from now, the first guests would be knocking for entry.

They’d invited over 40 friends and co-workers, and the house still looked like a pigsty.

Having lost hope, he fell down on the couch—one of Dean's choices—and a definite improvement over the previous one. "Dean?" he called out to the kitchen. "You doing good?"

Dean strolled languidly out of the kitchen wearing an apron over his cobalt blue sweater and jeans, a fresh baked peanut-butter cookie in one hand. At the sight of Aidan resting, he sighed. 

"This house isn't going to clean itself, lover," he scolded him. "Not much left to do. Just dust a bit," he smiled at the items lined up on the mantel of their merrily crackling fireplace, a large amethyst crystal holding the place of honor. "C'mon," he reached out a hand to Aidan, pulling him to his feet, and popping the cookie into the younger man's mouth as a form of reward. "You agreed. I cook, you clean." He wrapped both arms around Aidan's waist.

"You think if I just leave it like this, they won't notice?" Aidan tried. He pulled Dean closer. The apartment was still a mess, though part of that wasn't his fault. The jumble of furniture had been composed of both Dean's belongings and Aidan's, after they figured out a couple of months back that they might as well move in together, since they were always at each other's place anyway. They were still in the tuning stages of the household. "Yeah," he said to himself, "Just some dusting. Is the food nearly done?"

"Everything's perfect," Dean raised a hand to his face, stroking to comfort him. "Why so nervous, Aid? It's our friends. Nothing to be afraid of. Well, unless James starts drinking. But we'll deal with that when and if it happens." He grinned. "Do I need to feed you another cookie?"

Aidan turned his eyes on Dean. "We've got half an hour and a bedroom?" Which was, in his eyes, much better than cleaning. 

Of course, that had to be when the doorbell rang.

Dean patted Aidan on the ass and smiled. "I'll get that."

When he opened the door, much to his surprise, Adam and Martin stood there.

"Hey guys," he smiled at the pair, amused by the fact that they seemed to have arrived together.

"I came early, sorry," Adam apologized. "I thought you might need help with something."

"It appears great minds think alike," Martin smiled at Adam. "I met this one at the curb."

Dean gave each man a hug and ushered them inside. "I could use some help, actually. Would you two like to set up the bar?"

"That we can do," Martin nodded, putting a hand on Adam's shoulder. "Right, mate?"

"Yeah, sure," Adam agreed. 

When Martin walked towards the kitchen to get some bottles and glasses, Adam turned to Dean and whispered. "Holy shit! Your friend...he's hot!"

"Go... help," Dean smiled, shooing him towards the bottles on the counter.

Aidan looked up from where he'd fallen back down on the couch as soon as Dean walked in again. He got up soon after, realizing that since they had guests now, the time to lay back was over. Quickly sweeping a wet cloth over the windowsills, Aidan passed the bathroom to get rid of the towel and then moved into the kitchen.

"Adam," he smiled, "Hey. Been enjoying your holiday? Glad you could make it." He only knew the other man from mentioning, so he leaned in and offered a hand. "You must be Martin. Aidan. Nice to meet you. Can I help anywhere?" With a playful glance at Dean, he hoped it pulled him off the hook about cleaning the house.

"You two have a beautiful home," Martin told Aidan, handing him a beer. "You shouldn't worry so much." 

As Adam gravitated to the kitchen to help Dean dish up cookies and hors d'oeuvres, Martin pulled Aidan to the couch. "When Dean first came to me in Dublin, he was carrying an envelope of that Milk you'd synthesized. It was very well made, albeit misguided. I hope you've found a niche now where you're able to use that talent for the good guys."

"Misguided?" Aidan looked at Martin and felt his good mood threatening to slip from him, leaving him with a chill. He hadn't expected the far-too-fast reference to his past, and it certainly wasn't welcome. They'd only known each other, what, a minute? "I made that for a friend. It wasn't _misguided._."

"Don't get me wrong. Your intentions were top-notch," Martin held up a placating hand. "But you could have gone to jail. Dean was devastated. He actually asked me to fudge a report and keep your name out of it to protect you. That's when I knew that he was probably beginning to reconsider working for the CIA," Martin told the younger man. "I had just met him, but I could tell he was ready to move on."

"And it still took me five more years to do something about it," Dean set a platter of cookies down on the coffee table in front of the pair. "Aidan, don't listen to Martin's stories. He's spent far too much time shut up in a lab. He needs to get out more."

"Of course I won't," Aidan called back, but the stress of the day, joined with this unpleasant reminder of the past, was playing him parts. "Excuse me," he said, and went off to find the hell fury that had come into his house feigning to be an adorable ball of fur. Not that Nox was difficult; just overly curious, which meant she tried to get into cupboards, in the food cabinet, and found the worst possible locations to hide. She still managed to calm him down. Just the contented purr as she allowed him to tickle her behind her ear made Aidan feel at ease after a stressful day.

Dean was even better at it, but they had people over, and someone had to make them feel like guests.

When Aidan left the bedroom, the doorbell rang again. Lee. Aidan's boss, but also someone he'd become rather good friends with over the last few months. Perhaps because Lee had pushed him too hard one day at the range and Aidan had ended up with a broken hand, an accident really, but for which Lee had expressed he felt directly responsible. What had followed were weeks of recovery and several apologies, and somehow when Aidan had gotten back they just...got along.

Lee looked formal even at parties, apparently.

"Hi," Aidan grinned. "Come on in, come on in."

It all went fast after that. Within the span of twenty minutes, their admittedly still untidy apartment had become the backdrop for a score of friends and colleagues, and still not everyone had arrived. When Aidan finally managed to peel himself away from some of his lab partners, it seemed he had lost someone. "Adam, hey," he interrupted apologetically, "Have you seen Dean?"

"Dining room...I think?" Adam shrugged. When his eyes met Martin's, he grinned foolishly and waved at the older man, drifting away from Aidan's side.

A number of the counselors and nurses who worked with Dean had shown up. Despite their ability to help those addicted to drugs, they seemed to have no problem making short work of a keg of beer. 

Aidan found Dean sitting in the glow of the Christmas tree, talking with Richard. A plate of cookies and two glasses of wine sat between them. 

"Hey, Aidan," Richard got up from his chair and hugged the younger man. Nox immediately climbed up onto Richard's shoulder. "I see your daughter has grown a bit."

"I also see she's made a new best friend," Aidan couldn't help but still squeeze Richard's hand when they parted. "How's life been?"

Aidan thought it was still odd how men who had once not been able to stand each other, were now chatting away like old friends. It was a good kind of odd. Richard had stopped vying for Aidan's attention, which seemed to make all the difference. Aidan edged his way behind Dean and leaned his chin on Dean's shoulder. "You look different from the last time I saw you. Something's changed, hasn't it?"

"What hasn't?" Richard shrugged, then reached up to steady Nox as she began to slip. "Miraculously, a job opened up in your division,” he smiled at Dean, the person who had vacated the position. “I just happened to have the proper qualifications—not to mention a very strong history with your supervisor," he smiled. "Lee and I go back a bit, in case you haven't figured it out."

A light went on in Dean's head. Had Richard been the man Lee'd been telling him about—the agent he'd fallen for? What were the odds? Of course, in the spy business, things were never quite what they seemed.

Richard nodded formally to Lee as the agent joined in the conversation.

Aidan, not catching on, offered a welcoming smile to Lee before he latched onto Richard again. "You have a history together? So you got Dean's job by recommendation?"

Lee chuckled, but Aidan didn't get it.

"I was in the right place at the right time," squeezing Lee's shoulder warmly. Richard's blue eyes sparkled in a way Dean definitely recognized. 

_He was in love._

"I can't believe this place holds so many people," Dean marveled, smiling at the sight of James and Stephen fighting over the last sugar cookie. "And, on that note, I'd better get into the kitchen and get another round of cookies."

Aidan looked at them like he wasn't seeing what Dean was seeing. He didn't. When Dean made his way to the kitchen, he excused himself and immediately followed after. In the relative privacy of the kitchen, he prodded him. "Richard's not telling something and you know it, don't you?"

"Aidan," Dean cocked his head to the side with a smile. "They are _together,_ " he told him. "Lee and Richard."

As if he could see through walls, Aidan instantly latched onto Lee and Richard's direction. "No way." Hadn't Richard described hunting the one he wanted as...interesting? Oh. He was right. "No way!" He couldn't help himself; he kissed Dean there, ignoring those few who looked on. "That's great! A little weird, but great! How...?"

"From what I understand, they met on a case. They had the same mark...just like Richard and I did when we met. I think I made a better choice, though, choosing my mark over the competition," Dean hopped up to sit on the counter, facing Aidan, cookies forgotten. 

"Hey," he reached into the pocket of his jeans. "I was going to wait until after everyone had left to do this. But, the waiting's killing me. I got you something for Christmas, Aidan."

Curiosity wasn't Aidan's strong suit. Something told him to insist, to wait until everyone else was gone. His own present was waiting patiently for him to give, but it wasn't exactly suitable to be shared with friends. He couldn't hold himself. Full of anticipation, he nodded and looked with growing interest at what Dean procured from his pocket.

Dean hooked an ankle behind one of Aidan's thighs and pulled him closer, into the intimate vee of his legs. "Aidan," he said, softly, so that only Aidan would hear. "Finding you set me on the right path. You've brought me happiness and stability and a huge breath of fresh, clean air I never knew I needed. I know I've screwed up—a lot—but I don't think _this_ is a mistake."

He opened his hand, and on his palm was a band of white gold. "Would you marry me?"

Everything around them came to a crashing halt. People still moved and still talked, but Aidan wasn't listening, and even if he was, he wouldn't have heard a word anyone said. It was as if the world had gone soundless—except for Dean. Aidan was acutely aware of the held breath; he rivaled it. For seconds he couldn't speak, surprised. Out of all the things he had imagined, this wasn't one of them.

But it was a good kind of surprise.

Aidan flung his arms around Dean and crashed them into a tight hug. He breathed in Dean's scent, a scent he'd gotten so used to but which could still give him pleasant shivers, before whispering not so quietly, "Yes. Of course I will. Yes! Oh man, my present is going to be so awful in comparison. I love you so much."

Maybe people were staring now. Aidan didn't care. He was grinning like a madman, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

"The best present I could ask for," Dean took Aidan's face in both hands, "was for you to say yes."

He kissed him then, and all the spies, nurses, drunks and counselors in the world couldn't have stopped him.

Aidan continued to grin as his hands carded through Dean's hair. For that moment, it was just them. How long had he been planning this? A good thrum ran through his body, starting in his limbs and making his way to his stomach. People were definitely staring. "Of course I'd say yes," he laughed. "You know how much you mean to me." He gestured to the living room. "Let's not tell anyone yet, okay? God, I want you so much right now." People were probably listening in on this, too, but Aidan didn't care. "You think there's any chance we..."

Dean chuckled. "That would make us the _worst_ hosts ever," he bit his lip and considered Aidan, which entirely stole his resolve. "But maybe for just a few minutes."

As soon as Dean said that, Aidan knew he had won. He dragged him out of the kitchen, already far too aroused to run into people now. Still, Dean insisted on taking 45 seconds to put a plate of cookies together for their guests. 

As soon as Aidan had Dean in the bedroom, he locked the door—something they never did, but for which he was grateful now—and edged Dean back until he toppled onto the mattress.

Aidan was nothing if not quick. He discarded all of his clothes as soon as he could, expecting Dean to do the same, then pounced on him. That's when he realized Dean never got the chance to put the ring on his finger and he had the decency to blush. "Ring," he breathed, wriggling his fingers, "And I promise you the hottest round I can give you."

Dean took Aidan's right hand gently in his own and slid the buttery soft gold onto his ring finger. "There you go, love," he said solemnly, eyes shining. He felt as if his entire life had led to this very moment—that his heart might literally burst.

Aidan looked radiant, as if the ring completed him. "Did you get one for yourself?" he asked. "I want to see you wear one too."

"I thought," Dean shrugged, "that you might want to pick one out for me, when you have time." He lay back on the bed and sighed, content. "You have much better taste than I do, anyway."

"...The shops are closed tomorrow, aren't they?" Oh well. Aidan looked once again at the band around his finger before letting his eyes venture past it to Dean. "My ring on you. It's...surreal." Naked, Aidan crawled further up in Dean's lap until he could kiss him.

Once he could, an urgency crept into Aidan and he ground his hips down. "Mine."

\- - - - - 

By the time Aidan was through having his way, the last thing Dean wanted was to get dressed and go play gracious host. But they'd been gone an embarrassing 40 minutes from their own party. They had to make an appearance.

"Ready for the walk of shame, lover?" Dean checked his hair in the mirror over their bathroom sink.

"Absolutely," Aidan looked at him in the mirror with still that blissfully happy look in his eyes. His eyes turned on the ring around his finger. It wasn't going to be a walk of shame at all. He pushed himself off their small dryer, kissed Dean on the cheek and whispered, "You are beautiful, fiancé." Then he dragged him back into the living room by his hand.

It took remarkably little time before everyone's eyes were on them. Aidan felt himself flush, but he couldn't keep the smile off his face, which killed any chance that someone in the room hadn't yet deducted what they had been up to. Aidan didn't feel sorry for that—though it was slightly embarrassing opposite his chatty cousin, because that meant his whole family was going to find out, and that included his parents. He made a mental note to call them first thing in the morning.

Adam was the first to step closer and state the obvious. "We couldn't find you. You've been gone for a pretty long time."

Aidan and Dean shared a look. "Yeah, about that..." Subtly, slowly, Aidan ran his right hand through his own hair and left it rubbing the base of his neck, putting the ring on clear display.

"Is that...? Did you...?" Richard was the first to step forward and ask them. 

Dean nodded, amused at the eloquent man's sudden lack of vocabulary.

"An engagement ring!" 

"Oh my god!"

"About time you made an honest man out of him!"

Folks from the agency crowded the couple, Stephen going so far as to pick Dean up off his feet in a hug before placing him back down.

Adam hung back, eyeing the scene mournfully.

"You like him, don't you?" Martin put a gentle hand on Adam's shoulder, "and more than little."

"Yeah," Adam sighed. "Yeah, I do."

"Come drink with me, mate," Martin invited him, pulling him towards the couch. "It's a night for moving on."

In the midst of the crowd, they could still see Aidan chatting with everyone around him, having a hard time focusing on one conversation. He was beaming, reaching for Dean just to hold his hand, and being the center of attention. They looked happy.

"Moving on," Adam repeated, because something sounded odd about that. "Dean too?"

"If you ask me, Dean lost his heart to Aidan years ago. Perhaps the moment they met," Martin said gently. "I'm sorry he didn't pick you, Adam. He obviously never really took a good look at you."

Adam shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Aidan is a nice guy, it's hard to fault him. I took my chance and it didn't work out, so it's not like I never tried..." He was busy looking anywhere but at the happy couple, which in time moved his look back to Martin. Good-looking. Adam probably never stood a ch—

But he did. If Martin's words were true and not just to soothe his ache, then— "You think I look good?" Adam tried.

"Well," Martin thoughtfully chewed on a molasses cookie, "everyone has a _type._ What can I say? You're my type. Shy, glasses...clearly wicked smart. I have no doubt you are hiding a well-cut body under those baggy clothes, am I right? What's not to love?"

Adam blinked with big eyes at the directness. When his system recovered from the pleasant jolt of nervousness—when was the last time he had felt that?—he reached into his pocket, picked out his wallet and fished around for his business card holder.

Tapping the phone number, he held it out for Martin. "Call me. Don't worry about being a rebound or anything. You might be very much my type as well."

"I'm sorry," Martin apologized. "My social skills are for shit, mate. I deal much better with chemicals and microscopes than I do with people. I _will_ call you," he assured Adam. "I've been relocated here to Virginia for the foreseeable future. We should get together, see a movie or something."

Adam's smile left him. "You mean, you weren't just flirting with me?" Well, wasn't this awkward? "We should go see a movie, hang out a bit." Adam fidgeted. Because he was just flirting with Martin, and he wasn't sure whether Martin had just told him that if he came across as such, it was due to poor conversational skills, or whether it meant that he was interested.

Adam still looked lost when Aidan crouched in front of him. "You okay?" he asked softly.

"He's fine, Aidan," Martin patted Adam on the shoulder. "Couldn't be better." 

"How could I not be okay?" Adam smiled sadly. "My best friend is getting married. Hey, maybe I'll get to be the best man. And I’m pretty sure that means I get to plan the bachelor party too."

"Congrats, mate," Martin extended a hand to Aidan to shake. "He's really in love with you, you know."

Aidan smiled warmly at Martin. Martin's previous words forgotten because he was here, cheering Adam up by talking to him, Aidan said, "I know. Thanks," before reaching for Adam's hand. "You know I ask you for a reason. If you want me to ask Dean if he can spare some time for you, I'd be happy to."

Aidan knew about Adam. He didn't feel guilty per se, but he didn't like hurting the people he liked. "I can't speak for Dean, but I'd be honored if you were serious about being our best man."

"I'd be honored too," Adam told Aidan. "I hope you know that. Dean is my best mate," Adam's eyes teared up. "And you know I love you, Aidan," Adam leaned forward and hugged the curly haired man. "I couldn't be happier for the two of you."

Aidan smiled quietly and squeezed his hand. "All right then. I don't care what plans Dean has; you're now officially our best man. Thanks, Ads." He stretched his legs and nodded once more to Martin. "You're in great company. I'll leave you two to it."

Aidan left for the kitchen with a last smile, intent on a breather to let all of this sink in. He was getting married to the best guy in the world. Married!

In the silence he left behind, Adam remembered expecting an answer from Martin concerning the man's intentions.

"So..."

"So...." Martin cupped Adam's face in one hand. "It's painful seeing you sad, you gorgeous creature. What _are_ we going to do about that?" he leaned in to kiss Adam on the nose. 

Once Adam processed the interest, a shy smile returned. "I don't know," said he, "what do you propose to do about it?"

"Do you have any plans for New Year's Eve?" Martin wondered. "I don't. But we could make something happen then, I'm sure."

"I do now." Adam looked around. "I didn't spy mistletoe anywhere. That's strange, isn't it?"

"I guess they're trying to tell us that kissing is permitted anywhere in this domicile," Martin shrugged. "Seems in keeping with their personalities. Martin wanted to blurt out something about the fact that Dean and Aidan had probably had repeated sex on the couch on which they were now sitting, but he wisely filtered that comment.

"Sounds fair enough. Considering they just went missing for forty-five minutes or something. So..." Adam looked Martin over. He felt like taking a risk today, despite this man being yet a total stranger. He was friends with Dean, so how bad could it be? "Is New Year's the first time we'll be seeing each other again, or are you free tonight? I've been told there's mistletoe outside this apartment and it's Christmas Eve. I'm in the mood for some tradition."

"I believe there’s some on the porch, if that's what you're getting at," Martin grinned slyly. "You want to go see?"

"Yes, please."

Nobody took notice when they left the crowded living room, or if anyone did, they kept quiet about it.

Aidan smiled to himself from the kitchen behind the window some ten minutes later before he joined Dean in the living room, their hands linking on their own accord. He leaned in and kissed Dean sweetly on his cheek. "Ever thought you'd have a husband one day?" he whispered in his ear.

"It was more of a _hope_ than a thought," Dean told him truthfully, face flushed from his fourth glass of celebratory wine. "Are you going to be able to handle me—and only me—forever?"

"I love handling you," Aidan said with cheek. "And I'm not a threesome kind of guy anyway. The other way around, then. Your future spouse made bombs and drugs and dated a secret agent."

"It's hard to fault you for that, considering I _was_ that agent," Dean wrapped both arms around him. "That seems like another lifetime ago," he mused, "like a dream."

Aidan kissed him. "I'm glad you were put on the case that time." He nipped at his nose, ignorant of the people around them witnessing what should have been private on any other night, but which he didn't care for now. "I wouldn't have met you otherwise."

They still smelled faintly of sex, this close to one another. The scent was weak enough to go unnoticed by everyone not hugging either of them, although their guests seemed to have drawn the right conclusion anyway. Aidan loved it.

"You're mine tonight," he whispered his promise, just before he slipped away with a mischievous smile and set out to find Richard and Lee for catching up.

\- - - - - 

It seemed like no one wanted to leave, which was a sign of a successful party. But, finally, in dribs and drabs, their guests departed—each with a box of Christmas cookies in tow.

Adam and Martin left arm in arm, and things looked pretty promising on that front. Aidan finally located Richard and Lee—making out in the guest bathroom—and shooed them out as well.

Dean puttered around in the kitchen, making sure anything perishable was refrigerated before coming to the living room to find Aidan. His love sat on the sofa next to the Christmas tree, much as he'd found him hours earlier, but with a happier glow his eyes.

"Hey," Dean sat next to him and slipped his hand into Aidan's. "We can save the rest of the clean-up 'til morning, I think."

"Yes please." Aidan was exhausted, in a good way. He let himself fall down the couch sideways and continued to hold Dean's hand, ending up with them both comfortably lying opposite each other. This was why Aidan had been adamant about getting a wide couch. He looked up at the other now, a warmth in everything he did. "I don't want to think about cleaning up right now," he shook his head. "This was the best present anyone could have given me, Dean. Thank you. Again. I don't know how many times I've thought or said it today, probably way too much. I think everyone got used to the idea faster than I did. I expected I'd be the one to eventually ask you, you know. And now you beat me to it."

"I've just had more free time, is all, to go ring shopping," Dean smiled. "The agency is keeping you pretty busy. Makes me appreciate you more when you do finally make it home," he wrapped a tired arm around Aidan's waist. "Merry Christmas, Aid," he leaned forward and kissed him. 

"Merry Christmas," Aidan threaded fingers lazily through Dean's hair. "Look at how sappy you made me. I love you with everything I am." He closed his eyes and dozed. "I think I could get Lee to give me days off for this..."

"I imagine so," Dean mused. "Especially after what you were forced to witness earlier in the bathroom. There's a term for that, right? Hazard pay? Time off if you have to witness something traumatic?" he chuckled, not finding the idea of Lee and Richard making out to be traumatic at all. "We'll get there, Aidan. You saying 'yes'...that was half the battle right there."

Aidan smiled lazily. "God, that was awkward. Thank god they were still fairly dressed. What's the other half?"

"The other half is knowing I'm coming through that door at the end of each day," Dean jerked his head towards their front door, "and still looking forward to it each time."

Aidan mock-punched him with a laugh of indignation. "That's not a battle. That's the best part of the day. Well. Not _exactly_. But the second best for sure!"

"Mmm, true. True," Dean conceded. "The undressing part is definitely better."

They lay quietly for a few moments, as a jazzy version of _God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen_ played on the stereo. 

"The day you picked me up at rehab and took me to the museum—then your house—that was, hands down, the happiest day of my life," Dean told him. "This is the second happiest."

Aidan kissed him. "I'm glad you weren't spoken for by one of the nurses. Imagine that. We've come a long way." He smiled. "I mean to make you a happy man many, many more days. So count on this being the third happiest eventually." He closed his eyes, yawned and stretched his body. "Care to carry me over the threshold, babe?"

Dean snorted. "Not going to happen. I'm in a carb coma, love."

"You're ruining engagement night." But Aidan found he had little strength left in his limbs just the same. "Engagement morning-after?" he bargained sleepily as Nox curled up at their feet.

"Yeah," Dean wasn't disappointed at all. The evening had been a tiring, emotional roller coaster ride. "Engagement morning-after sex it is." He lay his head on Aidan's shoulder and they relaxed in the glow of the Christmas tree lights in their homey living room.

Tomorrow would be only the first day of the rest of their lives together.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe we've come to the end of our longest co-adventure to date. Huge thanks to Ceema for your inspirational prompt that launched this epic spy tale.
> 
> Thank you to all of you who continue to read, comment and suggest. We'd send an amethyst to each of you if we could. 
> 
> We're always looking for prompts. That being said, we already have a story and a half in the hole and waiting to post.
> 
> In our next story, an evil wizard comes to Erebor intent on infiltrating. How will he do it? Strap and and get ready for the ride!


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